


Longer by Far

by rosepetals42



Series: A Turning Tide [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Epic Bromance, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rebellion, Recovery, Sequel, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 104,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/rosepetals42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nine months since Derek let Stiles go. And Derek's fine. He is. </p>
<p>Then Stiles once again bursts into his life and Derek doesn't even pretend to believe that lie anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I'll save the longer notes for the end of this chapter, but to any new readers who are just finding this- please know that you really MUST read Defiance and Progress before reading this fic. It will really make pretty much no sense otherwise.

Part I

 

            Derek frowned down at the book, trying to _focus_ for another three more seconds before just giving up. He’d been trying to focus for four hours. It wasn’t going to happen. He should accept that and move on, go outside for a run or something.

            But Laura was taking the time to sit and work with him today so he couldn’t just go running off into the woods. Besides, he had already gone on a run that morning.

            So instead he glanced over to make sure Laura was at least pretending to be engrossed in the book she was reading before reaching into his pockets and pulling out the five pieces of paper he kept in there at all times. Though, even if Laura did see what he was doing, he doubted she would say anything about it. No one really said anything to him about it, except sometimes Jenny, and she only offered her own vague explanations as to why there were only five pieces of paper instead of the huge pile he wanted.

            It had been almost nine months and he had five letters from Stiles. They were all about a page long, filled with Stiles’ big, sloppy characters that Derek had watched develop over months of learning. Stiles had gotten faster at writing, but never neater and Derek’s heart did a weird flip just at seeing his name scrawled messily along the top. It was only because he had so much practice at reading Stiles’ handwriting that he was able to decipher the text at all.

            Of course, by this point he had every letter memorized so he didn’t need to focus too hard.

            They oscillated between being too generic and too specific. The first, which arrived about one month after Stiles left, gave the barest details of the camp, listing various people by job instead of name, mentioning only that they had begun planting and that Deaton may in fact be an evil genius. Two weeks later, the next relayed an incident in which Scott managed to break his ankle falling off a roof while attempting to help thatch it and was currently begging people to let him help even though his mother had sentenced him to bed rest and everyone knew it.

            The next, a full six weeks later, was probably the most satisfying as Stiles had actually taken the time to talk about himself, albeit only in relation to others. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac were living in their own cottage. Mrs. McCall had declared all of them too messy and loud and opted to stay with an older married couple for the time being, though Stiles mentioned that Scott was hoping to start building a place for her when he had the time. Stiles also wrote that he thought it would be a very long while until Scott had time for anything.

            Then there was another one, about three weeks later, that was, again, entirely too broad. The harvest had gone well, the new buildings Deaton had designed to hold the food had been completed on time, it was believed they had enough firewood to last the winter. Only the last line had showed any of Stiles’ personality at all, a simple: _And there’s no peanuts here to worry about, so stop frowning._

            Derek had that line seared into his memory so much that if he closed his eyes, he could picture the words perfectly.

            And then there was the last one. Received another month later (about five months after Stiles had left) and it was short and lacked any detail whatsoever.

            _Found Allison and her family. It’s a bit crazy here. – Stiles_

            And then nothing.

            There were many reasons for that, Derek knew. Good reasons. Any mail coming out of the community had to be shipped secretly, obviously, and generally went through a different pack in the contingent every time to avoid suspicion and fall was a very busy time, getting ready for winter, especially when you were living in the woods with no modern electricity or heat and, yes fall was practically over, but winter was probably even harder so it wasn’t a big deal that Stiles hadn’t written to him in four months.

            It’s not like Derek had written to him again either.

            He hadn’t even been sure if he was supposed to write to Stiles, if Stiles would _want_ him to write considering he was a werewolf and Stiles had left and yes, they’d had a moment as Stiles was leaving but Stiles was good at ignoring moments and Derek was good at following Stiles’ lead on these things. And if Stiles didn’t want reminders about his past life of slavery in the form of letters from Derek then he didn’t want to bother him.

            It had taken Jenny rolling her eyes, swatting him upside the head, and directly telling him to go get a pen and a notebook to make him write back the first time. Since then, he had written back every time Stiles had written him although he couldn’t make himself write one first. Not even now that he was practically desperate for information.

            His letters were truly terrible. He knew that. He had tried to write them differently, tried to write the letter that he wished Stiles was sending him, full of details about his days and what Cora had been up to or news on the abolition movement from their end. But… but they just fell flat. In part because his mother had told him not to put too much about the movement in writing and Cora’s pranks, which she still pulled quite regularly with Heather, seemed sort of like silly things to tell Stiles. However, it was probably mainly because, without Stiles, his days were simply not worth writing about.

            He tried to be happy, tried to put Stiles in the back of his mind as a fond memory, tried to focus on pack and enjoy spending time with Laura and Cora. He had spent months researching more and more about the pre-slavery history of werewolves, desperately searching for anything useful that he could pass onto his mother. When he’d finally admitted that almost all werewolf histories had been washed of anything remotely unbiased, he’d tried to go back to studying the biology of werewolves for Deaton. That hadn’t quite captured his attention either and Laura must have noticed because they began working on their Hale History again, which had been neglected for months.

            He got close to happiness, he thought. Some days when he could go into the kitchens and hang with Jenny and Simon and Dee and pretend that Stiles was nearby somewhere. Or when he and Laura ran together, talking during breaks about further steps they could take in the fight for human freedom. Or when he decided to help out Cora who had all but taken over the twins’ training. He could focus on the now and be happy and-

            It all went well until he got a letter from Stiles and then was expected to write back. Because then it all seemed stupid and there was no way to write to Stiles honestly without also saying that he missed Stiles so much sometimes it was like a physical wound in his chest and he wanted Stiles to come back so badly that he spent days staring into the woods, just hoping that somehow it would happen.

            Or at least, he wanted news. A letter. A note. Anything.

            Stiles was probably too busy to write, he told himself. And happy. He was probably happy living with other free humans and maybe he found someone else who wasn’t, you know, a fucking werewolf and he probably didn’t even really think about Derek anymore.

            That would make sense. That would be good.

            “You okay?” Laura’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he jerked his head up from where he had been staring at the last letter.

            _Found Allison and her family. It’s a bit crazy here. – Stiles_

            What did “It’s a bit crazy” even _mean_? Crazy in a good way? In a bad way?

            “Yeah,” Derek said, flushing and trying to seem casual as he carefully re-folded the letters. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… got distracted for a second.”

            Laura’s raised eyebrow told him that he wasn’t getting away with that lie for a second but she didn’t say anything. At least not verbally.

            But the next moment, her face went square and she sighed and she smelled disappointed and maybe a little bit _hurt_ and Derek tried to think of something to say. Because, fuck, he didn’t want to be like this.

            Laura wasn’t his Alpha yet, but she _would_ be and, more importantly, she was his _sister_. He loved Cora and he adored having a little sister but for seven years, it has just been him and Laura. They’d spent their childhoods exploring the woods, secretly shifting even though they knew their mother would catch them, trying to hunt squirrels and pretending to be explorers lost in the wilderness. And then even when they’d outgrown those and Laura had to spend more time alone with Talia to start learning how to be a good Alpha, they still found time to talk and Derek was fairly sure this whole Hale History idea had been Laura’s idea of making sure they stayed connected.

            If asked a year ago, Derek would have said that Laura knew him better than anyone in the world.

            Now… well, it would be stupid to say that _Stiles_ , who he hadn’t talked to in nine months and hadn’t even heard from in four months knew him better but…

            But he’d spent hours with Stiles. Hours with Scott and Stiles and Isaac and the kitchen staff and at one point he’d thought that Stiles understood him better than anyone. Stiles was constantly teasing him about his different types of frowning or laughing as he predicted what Derek was going to say before he’d even said it. And Stiles could make Derek smile. Easily. Without even trying.

            It was only when Stiles left that Derek realized how much he’d neglected Laura in his quest to make sure Stiles was happy. Sure, she had come around to do research with him and Stiles at times but Stiles wasn’t as comfortable when she was there and that made Derek uneasy and Laura _had_ to have sensed it because gradually she’d stopped coming. And Derek hadn’t even thought to seek her out himself. Or even thank her.

            And now he wasn’t even talking to her. Not really. Not about anything important.

            He had to say something or the guilt was going to overwhelm him.

            “I just haven’t heard from Stiles in a while,” he said, fighting to sound casual. It was casual. It wasn’t a big deal.

            “Oh,” Laura said evenly but he could tell she was happy he had said something. Her scent had shifting into something pleased and maybe a bit excited. For a moment, he was worried he was about to be teased because she was his older sister and that’s what she did. That’s probably why he had avoided talking about it.

            He wouldn’t know what to do if she teased him about this. He found himself hunching his shoulders just in case. She frowned at the movement.

            “There wasn’t a letter in the last batch?” she asked tentatively.

            Derek’s heart gave a weird lurch. There had been another mail run? When?

            “When was it?” he asked, trying not to feel hopeful.

            “A few days ago,” Laura said. “I only heard about it because Cora got a letter from Isaac.”

            “Oh,” Derek said, hope falling. “No, I know about that one. No, I didn’t get anything.”

            There had actually been three deliveries in the past four months. Each time Cora had gotten a letter from Isaac and Talia had received letters from Deaton and one from Scott and Jenny had received updates from Melissa but… nothing from Stiles.

            The only thing that made him feel better was that Jenny hadn’t gotten one either.

            Maybe Stiles had decided to cut out his past entirely and just move on. Derek couldn’t even blame him if he did. The things that Stiles had been through during his eighteen years as a slave… well, Derek would understand.

            Or he would try to.

            “Well,” Laura said and here came the platitude, the excuse, the well-that-shouldn’t-be-a-big-deal. “That sucks.”

            Derek blinked at her. His shock must’ve shown on his face because she was smiling at him a moment later, rolling her eyes fondly.

            “Don’t look so surprised, baby brother,” she informed him. “Mom might’ve said not to bother you about it but it’s pretty obvious-”

            Derek didn’t get a chance to ask her what was pretty obvious because at that moment a _car_ pulled up their drive, which had both he and Laura cocking their heads.

            Cars weren’t unheard of, but they were rare, an old technology from the days of humans that werewolves had gradually stopped using. Werewolves didn’t like to travel too far from their territory. Most would rather run or hike anywhere they had to go, were better with animals such as horses, and, put simply, travelling long distances simply required too much planning: getting permission from all the packs whose land you were crossing in advance or stopping to make your presence known at every one, making sure you had enough gas, which was expensive and rare, and, of course, just putting up with the god-awful smell for however long a time.

            The Hales had a car but the last time it had been used was almost a year ago when it had picked up Melissa McCall.

            “Wonder who it is,” Laura said, frowning and craning her neck as the car turned towards the side entrance. Derek shrugged. Doubtless, it was someone for their mom, maybe one of the other Alphas in the contingent, maybe there was even news of the village. But it probably wasn’t going to be news specifically on Stiles and it wouldn’t be mail delivery because using a car would be too ostentatious so… really, he was just grateful it had interrupted the previous conversation.

            He was better off when he didn’t think about Stiles. He really was.

            He turned his attention back to the book. They’d finally found their father’s ancestors, or at least what they thought were his ancestors. The name was spelled slightly different than his original last name- Davidson had been changed to Davison- but it was close enough that Laura and Derek agreed the information was probably valid. Of course, they could just ask either of their parents but the project had started as a sort of surprise gift and now Derek suspected they were both too stubborn to ask.

            He was just grateful to have new information to process, something to take notes on and _focus_ on so he didn’t just around and-

            “Master Derek,” Harris’ voice was a bit out of breath but still retained its tightly controlled formality. “You’re needed in the reception room immediately.”

            Derek stared for a beat and then Laura hit him on the arm and he moved.

            Harris led the way, smelling worried and a bit aggravated but that was how Harris usually smelled so it didn’t exactly give Derek a clue as to what was happening.

            He had put out a request for some science equipment a month ago. That’s probably all it was. That was good, maybe he’d have something to report to Deaton in his next letter.

            Harris’ scent turned positively affronted as they walked up and Derek saw that the two werewolves were waiting outside of the reception room rather than _in_ it. Derek frowned at them. He didn’t recognize either of them. Both were well-muscled, though one was much shorter than even Cora and both smelled of deep satisfaction.

            “Sirs,” Harris began, sketching a bow. “This is Master Derek. If you’d like me to-”

            “No worries,” the taller one interrupted. “We’re not staying. Just here to drop something off.”

            The small one was already heading towards the door, nodding at Derek.

            “Found something of yours,” the first one continued, then he was patting Derek on the shoulder, smelling pleased and smiling as if they shared some secret. “Hope you don’t mind we started on the way over.”

            Derek didn’t say anything. Couldn’t really as he had no idea what they were talking about. Luckily, the werewolf was gone in a moment, waving a hand over his shoulder as he left.

            Derek frowned after them, waiting a beat before waving Harris back and entering the room alone.

            There wasn’t a box. It wasn’t the microscope he’d wanted.

            It was a person. Wearing recognizable but unfamiliar gray pants and a sleeveless gray shirt, kneeling in the middle of the room, head covered in a black hood and-

            “Stiles,” Derek breathed, much too soft for a human to hear.

            He didn’t need to see his face. He would recognize Stiles anywhere- his back and arms and hands, tied together in front of him and-

            Derek had to move, he had to untie him, Stile was _there_ and-

            He reached for the bag over his head first, wanting to see his face, wanting to make sure he was okay, that he was _real._

            He grabbed for the bag, tearing it off too quickly though he was trying to be gentle and then suddenly Stiles was on his feet, his hands free, pushing Derek _back_.

            Stiles’ left cheekbone was red and there was a cut along his temple and his face was hard and determined until-

            “Derek?” Stiles sounded completely confused, but not panicked and he broke eye contact to scan the room, frowning in concentration. “What’re you…?”

            Then there was a burst of _joy_ , the smell of it filling the whole room but Derek didn’t know if it was coming off of himself or of Stiles and for a moment he didn’t care, content to gape at Stiles and wonder how on _earth_ he had thought that he could forget about Stiles.

            “Derek!” Stiles cried again, happier this time and Derek’s knees practically gave out with relief. Stiles didn’t hate him. He didn’t. He actually sounded excited-- a bit confused but _excited_ and Derek moved forward, trying to close the distance between them at least a little.

            That’s when he realized his knees actually _were_ giving out and Stiles’ face was swimming out of focus.

            “I can’t believe they brought me here,” Stiles was saying, or at least Derek thought he was. The world was going dark. Stiles must’ve seen the confusion on his face though because suddenly he was frowning again, eyes wide and scared.

            “Wait,” Stiles said. “Oh, shit.”

            That was the last thing Derek heard before blackness claimed him completely.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles watched as Derek’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started to crumble, still reeling from the shock of opening his eyes to see _Derek Hale_ standing in front of him.

            Luckily, his catching-instincts had been honed from six weeks of helping Scott hop around on one leg, so he managed to lunge forward to catch Derek as he collapsed.

            The muscles he’d acquired from planting stretches of crops, building cottages, and chopping more firewood than should be legal helped greatly as he attempted to lower Derek to the ground gracefully. Which he managed to do at least semi-decently.

            Oh god, he’d poisoned _Derek_.

            For a moment all he could do was sort of stare at Derek’s unconscious figure, wondering how on earth this had all happened so quickly. It had all been going according to plan. He’d been captured by a pack attempting to curry favor with Deucalion, they hadn’t bought his obviously bullshit story as to why he was on their lands, they’d ran his records, seen he was a runaway… Predictably, there had been a brief unpleasant period where they started his punishment a little early but then he’d been tied up and thrown in the back of a car and it had all seemed like it was going perfectly.

            He’d managed to untie himself using one of the thousand tricks he’d learned from others in the past eight months, re-tie himself loosely so it looked like he hadn’t, and then, also according to plan, use the element of surprise to douse the werewolf who was set to process him and knock him out.

            He just hadn’t planned on that werewolf being _Derek Hale_. Who was now unconscious. On the ground.

            “Derek!” Stiles called, giving him a shake even though anyone could see he was clearly out. Deaton had said the effects weren’t deadly, had promised to be careful as _killing_ werewolves was expressly against Scott’s overall strategy but this was the first time they had actually _used_ it and-

            It was probably an inappropriate time to be sort of smiling. But he was. He hadn’t even quite processed the whole situation yet, but seeing Derek’s face as the hood came off, looking shocked and confused and _happy…_ well, that summed up how he was feeling at the moment too. He would really appreciate if Derek would just wake up so they could have a good laugh about this.

            Unless, of course, Derek didn’t think it was as funny as Stiles was finding it.

            That would be reasonable. They hadn’t seen each other in nine months. Stiles hadn’t written to him in almost four- well, he’d _written_ but the letters hadn’t been _sent_ so-

            “What is going on?” Talia’s voice sounded truly alarmed and she was two steps in the room before Stiles thought to warn her. “ _Stiles?_ ”

            “Wait!” he said, holding up his hands and idly hoping that the movement didn’t fling more of the powder into the air. Werewolves really needed to make more noise when they moved. He wasn’t sure his heart could take this many surprises in so short a time. “Don’t come in. It’s been… contaminated.”

            Luckily Talia had already stopped, sniffing the air quickly before stepping away.

            “What is that?” she asked, holding up a hand to cover her nose.

            _Ah, so they could smell it_ , Stiles filed that information away for a later date. Surprise really would be essential.

            “It’s a powdered poison,” Stiles explained. Then shook his head frantically as he realized what that sounded like. “Not deadly! It should just knock him out for a few minutes.”

            If a werewolf _kept_ inhaling it, it should keep them under for up to an hour, or so Deaton claimed, but obviously Stiles wasn’t going to be setting up any of the other packets he had strapped to his leg so… really, it should just be a few minutes.

            “Where did it come from?” Talia asked, frowning at him.

            “Held it in my hands for the most part,” Stiles said, looking back to Derek to see if there were any signs he would wake up soon. He wasn’t exactly afraid of Talia Hale anymore, they’d even exchanged some letters about tactical targets but… he’d still like Derek to wake up. Plus, Derek’s face, now that Stiles was more aware was going to be _priceless_ to watch.

            “Oh, my hair too,” Stiles added. “That way it’s activated as soon as the hood comes off.” He was particularly proud of that part of the plan. Even Deaton had looked impressed when he thought of it.

            “You should probably move away from him then,” Talia suggested and she was somehow already completely calm again. It must be an Alpha thing. Stiles still felt as if this was some strange dream. Maybe it was. He had taken a few hard hits to the face earlier.

            “Stiles,” Talia said.

            Right, he was still kneeling next to Derek, one hand on his shoulder. Hurriedly, he stood and fled quickly to the furthest corner of the room, feeling his knees faintly protest. His body hadn’t exactly been treated well today. Spending three or four hours in the trunk of a car was not as restful as he had hoped it would be.

            But other parts of the plan had worked. So at least he’d answered some key questions about whether or not Deaton’s mixture of rhubarb, hemlock, and wolfsbane had the desired effect when inhaled by a werewolf.

            Stiles knew he had been right to trust Deaton. Scott would be pleased.

            Scott would probably also be pleased that Stiles’ exceedingly risky and controversial plan to be purposefully captured and processed into a rehabilitation camp for the sole purpose of discovering its location had failed.

            Stiles was more disappointed by that as they had already discovered one such camp and liberating the ten or so slaves held there about at the time was one of the greatest nights of his life.

            But he couldn’t be truly disappointed. Not when Derek was suddenly stirring, blinking awake, looking angry that he had even passed out.

            “Stiles?” he sort of mumbled as he sat up and Stiles found himself smiling again.

            “Mom?” As Derek sat up, he was facing his mother and so Stiles couldn’t see his face but he _heard_ the frown in his voice.

            “Behind you,” Talia said and her face had softened into something like a smile as well.

            Derek twisted without bothering to stand so he was looking up and his eyes were wide and shocked for another second and then he was smiling- no _beaming_ and it suddenly hit Stiles how much he’d _missed_ Derek.

            It had taken Stiles months to be comfortable around Derek. It had taken him longer than it should have. And on some level he’d _known_ that he missed Derek. At the beginning, it had been impossible to ignore. He found himself looking around for Derek when Isaac or Scott did something particularly funny and expecting Derek’s quiet, sarcastic, muttered comments inserted into conversations. But he’d gotten used to it. Or he at least ignored it enough until he assumed it had faded completely. Anyway, he’d been busy.

            There’d been planting to do and homes to build and new technologies to test and, once he’d finally convinced Scott, missions to run and most nights Stiles collapsed into what he called a bed too tired even to dream.

            Which was a good thing for him. He was happy. He just-

            Derek was sort of gaping at him and he knew he was grinning back stupidly.

            “Hey,” he said, hoping it came out casual instead of a bit panicked and nervous and awkward.

            God, the last time he had seen Derek, he had practically tackled him into a hug and told him that _he would stay_ if Derek wanted him too and he might have maybe _cried_ a little bit and-

            Fuck, he and Derek had never talked about… _things_ between them. And Derek probably didn’t feel the same way anymore which was reasonable because Stiles didn’t even know how _he_ felt because he had avoided this for months so he was probably still all fucked up but-

            It was Derek. And it had been nine months.

            Derek looked exactly like Stiles remembered him. He was still a hair taller than Stiles himself and Stiles knew he had been working in the library because his hair was sticking up at odd angles and his jaw was shaded with stubble that appeared even on the days Derek _did_ bother to shave and his face might be smiling but his eyebrows still seemed pulled together in confusion and it was exactly how Stiles always pictured him.

            It was a relief. He hadn’t changed.

            “Don’t go towards him,” Talia said and Stiles jumped, realizing that he hadn’t even notice Derek take a few slow steps closer. “He’s poisonous.”

            “Oh!” Stiles said, trying to shrink back in the corner a bit more. “Right! Yeah! Sorry! I’m poison at the moment.”

            “You’ve been _poisoned_?” Derek said, the smile dropping from his face as he took another step closer.

            “No!” Stiles said and he should stop smiling. This wasn’t funny. “No, _I’m_ poison _._ Covered in it. That’s why you passed out.”

            “Oh,” Derek said. “What?”

            “Yes, perhaps you should start from the beginning,” Talia said, stepping into the room enough to close the door.

            “Well,” Stiles said. “The plan was to get captured and be sent to one of the camps they have for previously escaped – or unclaimed – slaves and then use the magic dust-”

            “Why would the _plan_ be to get captured?” Derek interrupted, full on angry frowning now. Oh god, he was going to hate this plan even more than Scott had.

            Stiles felt his jaw clench. He wasn’t going to have this entire conversation again.

            “Because it’s the fastest way to learn where they are,” he said firmly. “Three months ago, we found another but only by chance and we can’t wait around for that. These are the people who’ve already escaped once, who want to be _free_ and who can help us. We have to start being more aggressive.”

            He was ready to continue if he had to. Convincing Scott had taken almost three hours and then not even Scott had been able to save him from a fairly severe lecture from Mrs. McCall that was an awful mixture of anger and worry that Stiles seemed to inspire in almost everyone these days.

            But Derek had dropped his head and shuffled back, clearly unprepared for Stiles’ shift in tone.

            “Oh, okay,” Derek said, nodding. “That’s… you’re right.”

            Stiles blinked, a bit taken aback despite himself. He was ready to argue and defend himself and-

            Instead he had just made Derek feel bad. Great.

            “Uh, anyway,” Stiles continued, wishing that Talia wasn’t standing right there so he could try starting this over. “Well, clearly, the plan was working except they brought me here instead of to the camp so…”

            He frowned. The only way that they would have known to bring him here was if his records still said that the Hales owned him. And that should have been impossible because it was much too dangerous to have escaped slaves tied back to the Hales. There would be questions as to why Talia hadn’t made the loss of a slave public knowledge or worked harder to find them.

            “I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Talia said. “Most of the paperwork was systematically lost to ensure that there would be few links back to our family but… well, a few were kept on file.”

            Stiles blinked at her, surprised. Records of escaped slaves were destroyed. It was tradition to protect from embarrassment and in their case, it was necessary to protect from _discovery_ and it was a huge risk that apparently Talia hadn’t done it. Safer for the slaves in question, probably, but riskier for her, for her pack.

            “Well, so yeah,” Stiles said, choosing to ignore that particular fact for the moment. Derek looked just as confused as he was and he wasn’t _grateful_ exactly as it had ruined this particular mission but… well, he also thought that Talia was trying to be nice in her own way so he couldn’t be mad either. “Now I’m here.”

            “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like, Stiles,” Talia said, nodding to him. “Derek, I’ll see you at dinner. Doubtless there are some… loose-ends to tie up from all this. Let me know if you feel ill from the effects of the plant.”

            “Sure,” Derek replied, tipping his head slightly to the side. “I will.”

            “I’m just glad Harris knew to get you first,” Talia replied, lips twitching up into a smile. “It seems to be quite effective.”

            She was gone before either of them to say anything. Not that Stiles would have been able to anyway because his brain was currently a little bit hung up on the fact that apparently _Harris_ had seen him and gone to get _Derek_ first.

            It was too much. He couldn’t handle that right now. His brain had already been shocked enough for one day.

            “You’re hurt,” Derek grumbled, looking miserable. For a moment, Stiles just stared at him. Hurt? No, he wasn’t, he was-

            Oh right. His face was a little more decorated than he would generally like it to be.

            Stiles rolled his eyes, almost laughing. He was _barely_ hurt. He’d been hit maybe five times before the werewolves had declared him boring and tied him up. He honestly couldn’t even feel any pain at the moment.

            “Dude,” Stiles said, cracking a smile. “It’s nothing.”

            Derek looked ready to argue, his eyebrows pulling together just like Stiles remembered and it made him laugh. And then Derek was smiling and shifting like he wanted to come closer and-

            “I should go take a shower,” he blurted before Derek could say anything. This was too weird. He was happy to see Derek, but…

            Space. That’s what he needed. Space and just a moment to himself. To figure out how exactly he was feeling and what he wanted or at least a moment to remind himself that he couldn’t get what he wanted because who even knew what _Derek_ wanted and there were still basic facts that couldn’t be changed. Facts like Derek was a werewolf and Stiles was…

            Stiles was... well, fuck it if he knew. But Scott had thrown him enough worried glances over the past five months or so that Stiles knew something was wrong with him even if Scott hadn’t quite come out and said it yet.

            “Right,” Derek said, taking a step back. Then he looked up and his eyes were tentative and hopeful. “I’ll probably have to go to dinner but… see you after?”

            “Of course,” Stiles replied, ignoring the fact that his chest felt warm. Derek didn’t hate him. Derek didn’t seem to mind the fact that nine months ago, they’d hugged and then Stiles had _left_ and Stiles was awful at sending letters and had actually missed the last two or three pick-ups because he’d been out on missions and-

            A lot had happened.

            But Derek looked _familiar_ and for some reason Stiles was excited to tell him all about it. To sit in the library in their back corner and fill Derek in on the details, or at least as much as he could in whatever time they had.

            “Okay,” Derek said. “See you then.”

            Stiles lifted his hand in a small wave, still determined not to accidentally knock Derek out again. He may have overdone it on making sure his hair was coated with the dust.

            As if he could sense his thoughts, Derek frowned at him. “No poisoning me next time.”

            He was gone before Stiles could wipe the grin off his face.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Jennifer’s first thought upon hearing the noise that came out of Dee’s mouth, which was half gasp, half squeal and entirely strange, was that the woman had hurt herself. Jennifer actually grabbed a nearby kitchen towel, ready to try to staunch the bleeding quickly, wondering how on earth Dee had managed to cut herself that badly while chopping up _lettuce_. She wasn’t even using a real knife!

            But in the moment it took Jennifer to grab the towel and turn towards Dee, Dee had moved, dropping the knife and launching herself at-

            Stiles.

            Stiles Stilinski was standing in the doorway to her kitchen. Dee was shooting at him and Jennifer knew Stiles, knew that he was about to tense a bit in the face of being touched and that he would probably hug Dee quickly before moving away but-

            But Stiles was already grinning at Dee and when she latched her arms around him, he didn’t seem to flinch but instead squeezed her back, eyes alight with laughter.

            “Well, hello, Dee!” he said, relaxed and happy and Jennifer couldn’t stop staring.

            Stiles had grown up.

            She knew that logically it had only been nine months and that Stiles had probably only grown an inch or two but… But he was _older_. He was wearing regular clothes - jeans and an olive green shirt - instead of his blue uniform and he was still a hair too thin in her opinion but the arms that were currently around Dee were muscled and healthy and there was a scar that ran up his left forearm that hadn’t been there before and-

            The smile that he sent her over Dee’s head was warm and open and _happy_ and she-

            “What happened to your face?” she demanded, stepping around the island to get closer. His eye wasn’t black yet but it looked like it _would_ be tomorrow and that was to say nothing of the cut on his temple that hadn’t scabbed completely over yet.

            When Stiles had first arrived at the Hales, the bruises on his face highlighted how young he was, emphasized his distrustful glares, made it painfully obvious that he was only pretending to be okay. These bruises didn’t have the same effect. When paired with his smirk and gleeful eyes, he looked more… goodness, he looked practically scandalous, a troublemaker with undeniable mischievous charm.

            Jennifer disapproved on principle even as she fought not to smile.

            “Gee, Jenny,” he said, releasing Dee and stepping towards her. “Can’t a boy get a ‘hello’ in this place?”

            Then he was moving forward, all confidence and suddenly she was wrapped up in a hug as well even though she was quite positive she was still furious.

            “No,” she said, shaking her head and keeping her arms at her sides. If anything, her words seemed to encourage him further- he squeezed her a little tighter, _laughing_ from above her. “I can’t believe you!”

            “I know you missed me,” he said. “Dee’s already crying.”

            “I did not,” Jennifer declared, trying to sound stern. This boy was about to get a firm talking to.

            “We all did!” Dee supplied unhelpfully. “Oh god! Simon’s in the back! I’ve got to go get him!” Dee was gone the next moment.

            Stiles stepped back, still grinning at her as if that was going to make her forgive him.

            “ _Four_ letters,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “You’ve been gone _nine_ months and I get _four_ letters! Scott has sent eight! Even _Isaac_ sent five!”

            Stiles had the good sense to look embarrassed, flushing a bit and looking at the ground. Jennifer almost broke. Because he suddenly didn’t look any older at all. Suddenly, it was a year and a half ago and he had somehow broken yet another dish.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, shifting. “I just… I’m really bad at them.”

            Jennifer just kept frowning. That was no excuse. Though it really was surprising, how a boy who could talk your ear off in person was so stilted when forced to write something down. Scott’s letters were always a bit shorter and littered with spelling mistakes but Stiles’ were… Stiles wrote as if his life was happening to someone else. And that someone wasn’t very interesting.

            And she had _seen_ the letters he’d written to Derek. If anything, they were a thousand times worst. It was a wonder Derek bothered to carry them around at all.

            She’d been so worried. Worried that his letters meant he was unhappy and then they’d stopped coming and she’d worried even _more_ and now he was standing in her kitchen, looking perfectly fine and-

            She was never going to forgive him.

            “I’ll do better!” he said and he was actually trying to _smile_ at her right now. “I promise. Really. I just… didn’t know what you wanted to know about.”

            “Everything,” she said, resisting the urge to smack him. Him and his eyes which were pouting at her and she was going to start smiling in a minute. “You can write about anything, you hear me?”

            “I do. I’ll do better,” he said, nodding at her seriously. Jennifer couldn’t stop staring. He really did look so much older. Even with those ridiculous eyes he was giving her. Christ, he must have been practicing by studying Scott.

            “Oh, stop it,” she said, holding out her arms reluctantly. His triumph smirk right before he hugged her again told her that he knew exactly what he was doing.

            That was Stiles, always too smart for his own good.

            The cheeky bastard probably _still_ wouldn’t write to her nearly often enough.

            “Stiles!” Simon boomed as he came in the room and again, Stiles jumped but didn’t flinch and he was already turning to hug Simon as well. Then he was content to lean back and listen to Dee try to both tell him a thousand stories and ask him a thousand questions at once, looking calm and happy and Jennifer knew that the nine months away had been good for him.

            She wished she could say the same about Derek. But the past nine months had consisted of Derek hovering around the edges of household, interacting but not truly _engaging_ with anyone, human or werewolf. And even on the good days, the days where she knew that he _tried_ to act normal, his smile just never quite reached his eyes.

            The Hales were eating now but a part of her wondered how Derek was even managing that when he knew that Stiles was downstairs.

            “ _Engaged!”_ Stiles’ voice broke through Jennifer’s thoughts. Stiles was practically jumping up and down with excitement, staring at Simon and Dee as if he’d never seen them before. “I didn’t even know you two were together!”

            Jennifer rolled her eyes. Anyone with a brain knew that Simon and Dee might as well have been dating for the past ten years. On the infamous drunk night, Scott had declared he was going to marry them. Luckily, Melissa had pulled him away before he actually said anything to either party.

            “Well,” Dee was blushing. “We got together after everyone left and… well he proposed after only two weeks!”

            “You weren’t waiting around!” Stiles said, grinning at Simon who looked a bit embarrassed.

            “If I didn’t do it, she would have!” Simon replied. “She’s completely mad for me, really.”

            “Oh stop,” Dee said, swatting at Simon casually.

            “So when’s the big day?” Stiles asked.

            “We’re going to wait a while I think,” Dee answered and the smile she directed towards Simon was a bit sadder than it was before. Jennifer felt her spirits dim as well. She’d never asked directly what it was they were waiting for but…

            Slave marriages weren’t officially recognized. And obviously Talia would let them hold a ceremony and would probably marry them herself if they asked but Jennifer suspected they were waiting for something else. Waiting until it could _be_ something else.

            Stiles must’ve sensed the shift as well because Jennifer watched as he frowned, his happy demeanor shifting for a moment into something hard and determined and almost _dark_ before sliding back into place.

            “Well, you’ll have to come to Beacon Hills to celebrate the engagement at least,” Stiles said.

            “Beacon Hills?” Jennifer asked.

            “Oh, Scott decided the camp needed a name,” Stiles explained. “Said it needed to be something that could inspire hope or something.” Stiles rolled his eyes in a way that was probably supposed to seem a bit exasperated but came out fond instead.

            “Oh! I agree!” Dee said, sounding thrilled.

            “It’s not even hilly,” Stiles admitted, earning himself a laugh from Simon.

            “I’m sure it’s lovely,” Dee insisted.

            “It’s nice,” Stiles agreed. Then suddenly he was looking up at Jenny, practically batting his eyes at her. “But… the food isn’t _quite_ as good as it was here.”

            “Oh, now I see the reason you’re here,” Jennifer muttered, even as she moved towards the fridge. She suspected that she had the ingredients to make one of Stiles’ favorite dishes.

            “Why _are_ you here?” Simon asked, looking curiously at Stiles.

            “Just a slight mishap,” Stiles said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not exactly planned but… it worked out.”

            Jennifer frowned but didn’t say anything. Neither did Dee or Simon. It was painfully obvious that that was all Stiles was going to say on the matter. At least for right now.

            “Well,” she tutted, wondering if she could force the truth out of him when they were alone again. Or if she should even want to. “I suppose I can throw together something for you.”

            “Thank God,” Stiles said. “Scott and I have been trying at our house but… it’s not going well.”

            “You boys have yourselves your own place now?” Simon said, sliding around Stiles to start cleaning the stove for the night. Jennifer was beyond pleased that it had been a leftover dinner tonight. There wasn’t much to be done except basic cleanup.

            “Yup,” Stiles said and then he was moving towards the sink. “Isaac’s there too. Though he doesn’t even attempt to cook. He claims that Scott and I should have some kind of expertise.”

             Jennifer could have told Isaac that that wasn't going to work. Once his brief stint of being terrified was over, Stiles never managed to focus long enough to learn anything. And Scott simply didn't care. He was too busy talking to the others to pick anything up. No wonder Stiles looked too skinny still.

            “You don’t have to,” Jennifer said as it became obvious Stiles was about to start on the dishes. Stiles waved a hand in dismissal and it made her mouth curve into a smile again.

            “So how did he pop the question, Dee?” Stiles asked, and then Dee was back to chopping and it was almost like old times. Except for-

            Jennifer saw Derek before she heard him, he was lingering in the doorway, just _staring_ at Stiles like he might disappear. He wasn’t smiling but it wasn’t because he wasn’t happy. If anything his face was _glowing_ , as if he were too overjoyed to even smile, too happy to do anything but look at Stiles and stand there.

            Jennifer stilled and after a beat realized that Dee must’ve seen Derek as well because she made no move to answer Stiles’ question. The scene remained frozen for a moment and then Stiles was twisted to see why it had gone silent and-

            Jennifer watched as Stiles realized who it was. The playful grin on his face sort of froze and then reanimated as something _more_. Derek stepped into the kitchen, still not taking his eyes from Stiles and-

            Never before had Jennifer felt like such an intruder in her own kitchen.

            “Hey,” Stiles said.

            “Hi,” Derek replied.

            “I, uh, took a shower,” Stiles supplied, seemingly randomly. “So you won’t… you know, collapse if you come too close.”

            “Oh,” Derek said, taking a few steps closer and he _wanted_ to hug Stiles, Jennifer could see it all over his face, see it in the way his hands twitched up and then clenched at his side. “That’s good.”

            “Yeah, so,” Stiles said, shuffling. It was getting to be too much. Jennifer knew her boys, knew that they couldn’t let this moment continue, neither of them could handle it. Not now, especially not in front of people. “Dee was just about to tell me the proposal story!”

            Derek latched onto that conversation shift as if it were a lifeline.

            “Great!” Derek said, eyes finally flicking to Dee and the others. He sounded truly excited to hear it, as if he hadn’t heard this story a hundred times. As if he hadn’t actually _been_ there when Simon broke in the middle of cooking and practically flung himself on one knee to beg Dee to marry him. For heavens’ sake, Derek was the one who had taken Simon ring shopping. “Uh. I’ll dry.”

            So Derek grabbed a towel and slid next to Stiles and if he stood a hair closer than was strictly necessary, everyone was too polite to say anything.

            It was easier after that. Dee and Simon filling the room with conversation and Stiles joining in as if he hadn’t been gone for nine months. Stories about Cora and Heather were exchanged for tales of Scott and Isaac. Simon and Dee’s love story was traded for Scott and Allison’s. Derek was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual, and his face oscillated only between utter happiness and complete joy and Jennifer assured herself that at least she was managing to hide her own emotions better than Derek. Surely she didn’t look so ridiculous.

            “Well it’s time for bed,” Dee announced almost three hours later. The dishes were long done, the others were sitting around the kitchen idly. Jennifer was only chopping fruit because she didn’t have anything else to do but standing and _not_ doing something seemed wrong.

            “Yeah,” Simon agreed, throwing an arm around Dee as he had done a hundred times before when they were just “friends.” “Will you be here tomorrow, Stiles?”

            “Uh,” Stiles’ eyes cut from Simon to Derek to Jennifer back to Derek again and he seemed to flounder for a second. “I probably should be getting back. Scotts going to be-”

            “Surely you could stay one more day,” Jennifer interrupted because she knew Derek wouldn’t. Stiles’ eyes were still hanging on Derek.

            “Well,” Stiles started, glancing down for a moment.

            “One day wouldn’t make that much of a difference, right?” Dee added. Derek had frozen, carefully looking away from Stiles. It would almost look like he didn’t care about the answer, or at least it would if you couldn’t see that his left hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist below the table.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said. Derek almost sagged with relief. Stiles must’ve caught the motion because he glanced over and almost smiled. “Yeah, I can stay another day at least.”

            “Awesome!” Dee cried, reaching up for another hug. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Dee and Simon left and Jennifer told herself she was just going to finish this last melon before heading to bed herself.

            “You boys run along,” she said. She had worked in a kitchen with Simon and Dee for years. She knew when two people needed a moment alone. She didn’t know why they were even pretending.

            Though if Derek’s slightly red cheeks and Stiles’ preoccupation with his own hands was any indication, they weren’t exactly doing a good job of it.

            “I found some good books in the library,” Derek blurted. “If you wanna-”

            “Sure,” Stiles interrupted. “Haven’t had time to read in ages!”

            “Cool,” Derek said and the two were already moving towards the door.

            “Bye, Jenny!” Stiles called, taking the time to glance at her as he waved.

            Jennifer smiled to herself.

            She wondered if either of them would even remember to return to the kitchen the next day.

 

*^*^*^

 

            It was late when Derek and Stiles finally accepted that they had to go to sleep. The night before, they’d stayed up until almost three am talking and so he supposed the current time of a little after one wasn’t _that_ late but… it felt late.

            The day had practically flown by. He’d woken up at six to go running, which meant he’d only gotten three hours of sleep but when he came back at seven, Stiles was already up if not entirely processing the world. He was still blinking sleep from his eyes and his hair was messy but he was _there_ , sitting across from Jenny as she started breakfast, mumbling about something that Derek couldn’t quite make sense of. Judging from Jenny’s face, he wasn’t sure it made sense to her either. Stiles might have been more asleep than awake at that point.

            Still, he was at least pretending to be awake somehow and Derek had taken the fastest shower of his life so he could go sit next to him and Stiles had smiled at him and starting talking and-

            They’d just never stopped. Other people had been included: Cora and Heather had found them in the library in the morning and the afternoon was spent helping some of the garden staff that Stiles still recognized and then obviously they’d spent large chunks of their day in the kitchen until Jennifer threw them out because they were a distraction.

            But primarily it was just the two of them. And it was so strange because their letters were stiff and awkward and sometimes _they_ were stiff and awkward but mostly it was just _easy_. Easy and relaxed and wonderful and-

            Derek didn’t know how he had lasted nine months. Didn’t know how he could be expected to do so again.

            Stiles was leaving in the morning. He’d been gentle but firm when Dee tried to get him to stay another day and his eyes had cut over to Derek with an apology and he smelled like regret, but conviction and Derek knew he had to go. He’d already said goodbye to the kitchen staff again, explaining that he had to leave early and it was easier to do it the night before.

            He hadn’t said goodbye to Derek. But that was okay because Derek wouldn’t have let him. He would see Stiles in the morning.

            “Mom?” He asked, knocking on the door to her study although he could already hear that she was awake and alone.

            “Come in,” she answered softly and when he walked in and saw her there, dark hair loose and flowing past her shoulders, not yet dressed for bed as if she had been waiting for him, eyes looking at him softly and sadly and lovingly, he almost turned around and left.

            But he didn’t.

            “Mom, I-” he had to stop. He didn’t know how to say this, how to bring this up, how to start this conversation even though he knew where it needed to end.

            “You told me once that humans could be part of werewolf packs,” he finally said. “I- I need to know if-”

            His throat closed.

            A part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this. But he _had_ to.

            He needed to know if the reverse were true. If Scott was actually an Alpha, if Derek could actually do this, if this was crazy and he should just give up and go to sleep.

            “Yes,” his mother said simply, rising to stand in front of him. “Yes, you could, Derek.”

            He let out a breath but it came out sort of hysterical.

            A part of him had hoped that it was impossible. The part that couldn’t imagine leaving his mother and father and Laura and Cora and his _family_. His pack. The part that was screaming at him that this was _wrong_ and he couldn’t do it and he _shouldn’t_ do it but-

            But that part was just a part of him.

            The rest of him was practically shaking with relief.

            He could do it. He could join Scott’s pack. He could be with Stiles.

            “But it’s not the same,” Talia continued. “The bonds are there and _you’ll_ be able to feel them, and to some extent Scott will but… but humans can’t feel pack. Not in the same way.”

            Derek nodded, feeling a rush of terror at the thought and then pushing it down. It wouldn’t be the same but he wouldn’t be an Omega. He could live with that.

            He would have to.

            Because he couldn’t live without Stiles.

            “I- that’s… that’ll be okay,” he said, wishing he sounded more confident. “I’ll… adjust.”

            “Have you and Stiles talked about this?” his mother asked, taking another step closer. His mother's emotions were usually muted, usually it was hard to smell them but her concern hit him like a wave anyway.

            “No,” he admitted. They hadn’t. They had talked about everything else. About Scott and Allison and Beacon Hills and Stiles’ secret worries about the rest of the Argents and Stiles’ impatience with how slow things were moving and his concerns for the winter and-

            Everything else. Except this. Except them.

            “I couldn’t tell him,” Derek said, twisting his hands. And it wasn’t because he hadn’t thought about it or because it hadn’t hit him until Stiles smiled softly at him and then headed to bed. This idea had come to him from the moment he recognized Stiles in the study, the idea of _never again_ : never again could he be without Stiles. This decision had been made without thought two days ago. He’d made it a thousand times since then.

            But he couldn’t tell Stiles. He couldn’t pressure Stiles like that. To tell Stiles what he was thinking of doing, what he was thinking of _giving up_ would have made it all too obvious. Stiles would know how he felt and would wonder what Derek expected and-

            It was too soon. In many ways, Derek should wait and for a moment he wanted to, to just put this off and do it later but-

            Stiles was needed at Beacon Hills. Derek needed Stiles. Needed to stay with Stiles. The bonds of pack weren’t meant to be stretched that far. It would cause anguish to everyone, to his mother and father, to Laura and Cora, to the twins who were still so young and who wouldn’t understand why a point in the bond they were just starting to feel had suddenly shifted and faded.

            It wouldn’t be fair to them and it wouldn’t be fair to him and even if Stiles didn’t know it, Derek thought that maybe he had started joining their pack months ago.

            “It’s too soon,” he told his mother. “And it’s- even if he doesn’t… I’d still be part of his pack.”

            That would be enough, Derek told himself, even though it was a lie.

            “Oh, Derek,” his mother said and he had to drop his gaze at the sympathy he saw there.

            “I’m sorry,” he said and then his mother was hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry.”

            He was sorry. He was sorry he was abandoning his pack, he was sorry he would never be Laura’s Second, he was sorry he was just _springing_ this one everyone. He was sorry that this decision, which was usually made so carefully and discussed for _months_ and planned out and- he was sorry that he was doing it like this.

            He was sorry that he couldn’t think of another way to do it.

            He was sorry and _terrified_ and-

            “It’s okay, Derek,” his mother was murmuring, stroking his hair gently. “It’s okay.”

            “I haven’t even told Laura,” Derek realized, voice tight. He was doing this all wrong. He was supposed to be her Second. They’d never said it out loud but they both knew it was true and Seconds didn’t leave the pack. At least not like this.

            If it was different, if _life_ was different, he could do this the right way. He and Stiles could slowly grow to love each other and their packs would get to know each other. They could take their time and talk about the decision and this part, the part where one of them _left_ their pack, would be when both parties knew what was happening and it would probably be _during_ the marriage ceremony. It would be so simple.

            But that wasn’t what they had. They had a world where Stiles was a slave and Derek was a werewolf. They had a tangled mess of miscommunication and old scars and repressed feelings and a thousand other obstacles standing in their way. They had a world where Derek didn’t even know if this would work out.

            But Derek had to try.

            “Oh, sweetie,” his mother said and it sounded like maybe she was smiling even though her scent was entirely comprised of sadness. “Laura already knows.”

            For a moment Derek was stunned into silence.

            “She- she does?” he asked.

            “Of course she does,” Talia replied. “Why do you think she’s been trying to spend so much time with you?”

            “To convince me to stay?” Derek asked and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. He didn’t want Laura to hate him. She had to know it wasn’t about her. It wasn’t that Derek didn’t want to belong to this pack anymore. It was just-

            A werewolf could only belong to one pack.

            “No, Derek,” his mom said. “It’s because she’s going to _miss_ you.”

            “But she couldn’t know I was leaving,” Derek said stubbornly. He hadn’t known he was leaving until two days ago. Until Stiles had burst back into his life and changed everything. Again.

            “Yes she did,” his mother said. “Maybe not the timing, maybe not so soon but…”

            She shook her head sadly.

            “You haven’t seen yourself these past few months, Derek. You haven’t seen how you are with _him_.”

            Derek was finding it difficult to breath.

            “Everyone knows,” she said. “I’ve known for almost two years.”

            “You… what?” Derek asked. That was impossible. Two years ago he and Stiles had barely communicated, Stiles still hated him and didn’t trust him and he was trying to avoid Stiles and focus on his _pack_ and- “How?”

            “Don’t you remember?” his mother asked. “After the whipping, you challenged me over him. You chose him over your Alpha.”

            Derek stared at her. He only vaguely remembered that moment: his mother asking if she was wrong, a buzzing in his head when he insisted they should have waited for more information, the nausea and headache after that had only been alleviated when he’d obeyed an order and gone to sleep.

            He hadn’t thought about it at the time, had been too concerned with focusing on the pack and leaving Stiles and Scott alone. But-

            God, it _had_ been almost two years.

            He couldn’t wait a moment longer.

            Instead of letting go, he hugged his mom harder.

            He was going to do this.

            “Are you sure?” she asked, leaning back to stare at him. Her eyes were solemn. “It won’t be easy. People won’t understand it. Other werewolves won’t understand it. It’ll be dangerous.”

            “Mom,” he said and his voice was hoarse. “I… I have to go with him.”

            His mom didn’t say anything, just pulled him in close once more.

            “I’m sorry,” he said again.

            Her hand was on his neck, pressing as if she were about to make a formal command and she hesitated and for a wild moment he thought that maybe she was going to order him to stay.

            Then suddenly, she had extended a claw and there was a small sting of pain that told him she had cut a thin line into his neck, deep enough only to draw blood.

            “I release you,” she said, voice soft but clear. “I release you from your duties.”

            The cut started burning.

            “I release you from your vows.”

            Derek wanted to howl but all he could manage was a sort of wordless gasp.

            “I release you from this pack.”

            There was a final flash of pain, bright and scorching and Derek’s knees buckled.

            But then it was done, the pain gone as if it had never been and Derek felt-

            Empty.

            He reached for _pack_ , for the bonds that he had grown up with, the sense he’d always had that told him where his family was, what they were feeling, their connection to each other and to him and-

            There was nothing.

            Panic rose in him and Derek let out a whimper. It was all he could do to stay on his feet.

            “It’s okay, Derek,” his mother was saying, when he finally thought to focus on her voice. But even that was different. It was older and somehow less powerful and it was as if he didn’t recognize it.

            She was still standing with her hand carefully curled around his neck and his whole life that had been comforting and now it was just… He floundered for a moment, not sure why he was tensing, reading to spring away when all he wanted to do was collapse and sleep and suddenly he realized what it was.

            Her hand was threatening. She was an Alpha but not _his_ Alpha and that was a threat. A threat that he had no hope of surviving because he was weaker, he could already feel it. It was as if his body had suddenly become smaller and tighter and-

            “You’re okay. Just breath.”

            Derek obeyed even though his instincts didn’t tell him to. They didn’t tell him to do anything anymore. Except maybe to run.

            “I’m so sorry, Derek,” his mother said, thumb running down his cheek as she continued to hold him up. “It’s going to be hard. Usually by now-”

            She stopped and he filled in what she had been going to say. Usually by now the other Alpha had taken over. Usually by now he would already belong to another pack and this would all be a quick part of a ceremony. Usually all he would have had to do was grit out his new vows to his new pack and he would be being held by his partner and he would never actually _be_ an Omega because the ceremony was designed so that he would never have had to feel _this_. To feel alone.

            He took a breath and moved a step away, hating that the distance made him feel calmer.

            That wasn’t right. She was his _mother_.

            It didn’t stop him from taking another step away.

            “Derek?” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” he said, taking another slow inhale. He was getting better. The shock was wearing off. If he thought about it, he could stop himself from questing for a pack that was no longer there. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch his neck, frowning when he realized the cut had already healed.

            That wasn’t right. Wounds from your Alpha didn’t heal.

            “It’s already gone,” his mother said, no doubt seeing the frown of confusion cross his face. “I’m no longer your Alpha.”

            The knowledge hurt and then his mother’s eyes went out of focus for a moment and he knew what she was doing and that hurt _worse_ because he couldn’t do it. That part of his mind was just empty, frightening blankness.

            “Peter had warned the Christine and the twins,” Talia answered. “And I had warned your father but… Laura and Cora sensed it. They’re awake now.”

            Derek nodded dumbly. He’d been in the pack when his mother’s aunt had died. She was old and the bond had been fading and they’d been ready for it but it was still awful when suddenly she had just been _gone_. When all the emotions and warm that had come from her part of the bond had just been cut off.

            He wondered if that’s what he felt like to them. If it was like he had died.

            “Go to them,” his mother said. “Say your goodbyes.”

            “Okay,” Derek said, jerking his head into a nod.

            “Your father and I will see you tomorrow morning.”

            There was another beat and Derek realized that both of them were hesitating, lingering as if maybe if they stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.

            “Derek,” his mother started, stepping forward slowly and she was crying. Not sobbing, but tears glistened on her cheeks and Derek felt sick that he had put them there. “I know I’m not your Alpha anymore but-

            “But I will always be your mother,” she said, reaching for him again. “And I love you.”

            Derek threw himself into her arms one last time, inhaling deeply because his sense of smell was dimmer and he had to _remember_ this, had to remember her.

            “Thank you,” he choked. She’d done it. She hadn’t talked about his duty to the pack or the foolishness of his plan or tried to convince him to stay. She’d let him go. “Thank you.”

            “I love you,” she repeated, unnecessarily and all Derek could do was nod against her.

            It was over.

            He had done it.

End Part I 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who left kudos or a comment on D&P- they have really kept me motivated to finish up this sequel for you guys!
> 
> As those of you who follow me know, that certain character tags/other tags have been left off in the interest of spoilers (though there are a few characters up top that are spoilery). Also, if there are any specific trigger warnings, I will be telling you to scroll down and read them to avoid spoilers.
> 
> As for updates, I plan on trying to do a similar thing to when I posted D&P (aka twice a week and quite long) but I acknowledge that my life is a bit crazy. I can promise that updates will at least be weekly. Right now I have 36k already written. The plan is to be done this insanity by January.
> 
> Finally, I adore any comments or questions you have. Feel free to leave them here or on my tumblr. (If you have a specific question concerning spoilers, send it to my tumblr and I can answer you privately if you really want to know!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the first part!!


	2. Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who left kudos or comments on the last chapter. I was so nervous to start this sequel because I was afraid of letting people down and so it just meant so much so that you enjoyed coming back to this world with me!
> 
> Okay, now for some notes of a more serious nature-
> 
> I will be including trigger warnings for a lot of these chapters at the bottom. They will include some spoilers, but I will try to keep them broad enough so that if you do want to scan the trigger warnings before you read, you can still enjoy the chapter. Essentially, Stiles and Derek will be starting a relationship and all that entails, but it is not my intention to gloss over Stiles' past or ignore it completely in this fic. This is tagged Recovery for a reason.
> 
> Please feel free to let me know if you think I have forgotten any important trigger warnings. I will add them to the bottom of chapter immediately. I freely admit that at times my instincts to avoid spoilers lead me astray from proper warnings for my readers. If you have any specific questions (or questions that you would rather be answered personally), I would be more than happy to address your concerns on tumblr where I can answer you privately. 
> 
> (Those serious notes apply to the whole fic, not necessarily this chapter- but I figured I'd just put it on the table now!)
> 
> And now, the second chapter!

**Part II**

 

            It was a little after nine and Stiles told himself that if Derek didn’t get back from his run soon, he was going to have to leave without saying goodbye.

            He was supposed to have left hours earlier. That had been the plan at least, to say goodbye to Derek _before_ he left on his morning run, or maybe convince Derek to walk with him for the first few hours of his hike and then run back. But then they’d stayed up late talking the night before (not as late, but still) and the beds at the Hale household really were incredibly comfortable so Stiles couldn’t be blamed if he had missed his self-imposed six am wake up call.

            He probably could be blamed for not leaving yesterday. But... there had been so much he’d had to _tell_ Derek, about Scott and Allison and their attempts at cooking and Mrs. McCall’s frankly unholy alliance with Deaton. And he hadn’t even finished, but he and Derek had been distracted by talking about other things and…

            Maybe it would be best if he left now, before Derek got back. Because Stiles knew he was going to leave, knew he had to get back to Scott and the others, knew Scott was already going to kill him for not checking in sooner, but he couldn’t imagine actually _leaving_ again.

            Or maybe it was that he could imagine it and that made it somehow so much worse.

            He knew exactly how it would go. They’d hug and Stiles would fight down any feelings that rose up and tried to convince him to stay. Then he’d leave and go back to Beacon Hills and throw himself into work and making sure everyone was safe and tell himself over and over that it just wasn’t meant to be.

            He and Derek would always just be a _What if_. There was no way for them not to be. And he could lie awake at night on the nights when he couldn’t sleep and wonder _What if Derek wasn’t a werewolf?_ Or _What if slavery didn’t exist and humans were treated equally?_ Or even _What if Matt and Brunski and the others hadn’t happened and Stiles could just_ relax _and maybe just_ accept _things?_

            Or the biggest: _What if Derek had asked him to stay?_ Or _What if he asked Derek to come with him?_

            Stiles knew that he should stop asking himself these questions, knew that they were all impossible situations, fantasies that could never come true. He and Derek were just too different. They came from separate worlds and, yeah, they’d overlapped for a time but that was over and they wouldn’t come together again.

            Eight months ago, Scott had challenged that. Because that’s what Scott did. He challenged anything he thought was making people unhappy.

            _“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, wiping a hand down his face. He shouldn’t have snapped at Scott. He was just tired. It had been a month of constant planting and building and he still wasn’t fucking_ sleeping _very well and-_

_Fuck, he missed Derek and all Scott had done was gently remind him that they were sending out mail tomorrow and that he had to have his letters written. As if Stiles hadn’t known that. As if he didn’t have four half-started letters that were all truly terrible scattered around his room._

_He just didn’t know what to write. He didn’t know what was_ expected _or what Derek would want or-_

_He also couldn’t deny that a part of him felt_ wrong _writing to Derek. Derek was a werewolf and Stiles shouldn’t_ miss _him like he did. Stiles shouldn’t be thinking about so much or wondering what he was up to or snapping at his best friend just because he was stressed about the possibility of having to write to him._

_Maybe he just shouldn’t. It was like he told Scott months and months ago: Werewolves were the masters, they were the slaves and at the end of the day-_

_“Stiles,” Scott said, in his tone that meant he was about to be serious. “We’re fighting for human independence, right?”_

_Stiles blinked. That question was… unexpected. But Scott was still looking at him, uncharacteristically solemn and so he nodded._

_“Yes,” he answered, still frowning in confusion._

_“Because we believe that humans and werewolves are equal, right?” Scott prompted._

_“Yes,” Stiles repeated._

_“Equal. So they’re not better than us, but we’re not better than them.” Scott pressed. “That means that werewolves and humans can have equal partnerships and equal friendships and equal relationships, if they want. That’s what we’re fighting for.”_

_Stiles hoped Scott didn’t expect him to react. Because his mouth had gone dry and he seemed sort of frozen and how the hell did Scott_ know _all these things? Stiles had never mentioned Derek, not_ once _in the month that they’d been here and he_ certainly _hadn’t talked about anything else he might be struggling with and… and, yet, Scott still somehow just_ knew _that that’s what he was stressed about._

_“So, stop worrying about it,” Scott continued, pulling Stiles gently to their kitchen table and putting a pen and notebook in front of him. “He’s your friend. Just write whatever_ you _want to say. Whatever would make you happy.”_

_Stiles opened his mouth to say that it wasn’t that_ easy _, that this wasn’t something Scott could just wave his hand at and fix magically. But Scott had already walked away._

_Stiles blew out a breath angrily. But then he had started to write._

            It hadn’t been that good of a letter. None of the letters he sent were very well written or really captured what he wanted to say and they’d probably gotten worse as they went on because Stiles was trying so hard to _forget_ , to not think about Scott’s words too closely or think about their broader implications.

            It was just another thing in a long list that Stiles didn’t have the time or energy to think about.

            Except for now. Now, standing by the rear garden entrance of the Hale’s home, he couldn’t get Scott’s words out of his head. _Equal friendships or equal relationships_. That’s what they were fighting for. That’s what he and Derek already had somehow: a friendship of equals. And, really, they’d had it before. Not technically, not on paper, but…

            That was how Derek had always treated him. Stiles hadn’t seen it before but that’s not because of anything _Derek_ did. And Derek would never push it or ask for anything more but-

            But what if Stiles _wanted_ more?

            Yes, Derek was a werewolf but Scott said it would be okay. Scott said that’s what they were _fighting_ for and Stiles knew that must be true.

            He knew it was true. He just didn’t see how it would work. He couldn’t stay here, wouldn’t even if Derek asked him to but… wasn’t it just as wrong to ask Derek to leave his _pack_ to come live in the woods with a bunch of humans who were fighting just for the basics? There wasn’t any heating or electricity and, god, the piss poor excuses they had for mattresses _sucked_ and-

            And Stiles didn’t even know what he would be able to offer in return. Because, yes, the _thought_ of kissing Derek was nice and, yes, he’d managed to… pleasure himself finally and Derek may have made a few appearances in his imagination but-

            But Matt and Brunski had still happened. And he still had nightmares and sometimes flinched away from people without meaning to and for every successful wank session he’d had, there were at least two or three times when he just _couldn’t_ and he really didn’t try that often. At least, not in comparison to Scott and Isaac who, well-

            Having their own rooms gave everyone the _illusion_ of privacy but the walls certainly weren’t soundproof and Stiles still snapped awake far too easily so…

            He knew he wasn’t up to normal standards. And he wasn’t broken, he _wasn’t_ but… he wasn’t right either.

            What he’d tried to tell Jenny nine months ago still applied. Derek deserved better. Stiles couldn’t ask him to come to Beacon Hills. He couldn’t.

            So it would go as it went last time. He would try to ignore the fact that he missed Derek and busy himself with work and save those little _what if_ scenarios for the few times he actually felt the urge to take care of himself in that way.

            He nodded, feeling confident about this decision and took another step towards the door. Maybe it would be better to leave without seeing him. He could write and explain later. He really had to be going. It was going to take him at least five days if he hauled ass and it was getting dark so soon that it probably would be more like six and Scott was going to _kill_ him because it will have been over a week by the time he gets home. Stiles was going to be lucky if he was allowed to go on any solo-missions again.

            He should leave. He was going to.

            “Hey,” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding at Derek’s voice. He would get to say goodbye. “Sorry I’m late.”

            Stiles turned and frowned. Derek didn’t look like he had been running. His face looked a little pinched and tense but he was wearing regular clothes and holding a backpack.

            “Saying goodbye took longer than I thought it would,” Derek continued, still coming closer.

            “You… what?” Stiles said. What was happening?

            Was this… was this what he thought it was?

            “Oh,” Derek frowned in that way that he did when he realized he had done something wrong. Stiles’ heart was beating abnormally loud, even to his own non-werewolf ears. “I’m coming with you.”

            “You… you are?” The warmth that often occupied Stiles’ chest when Derek was around had increased. He was smiling too much.

            Derek was coming with him. Derek was visiting _Beacon Hills_.

            “Yes,” Derek said, nodding and he was smiling too.

            “For how long?” Stiles asked. He needed to calm down. Derek was probably just checking it out for Talia or to visit Scott and Isaac and Deaton. But maybe he’d stay a while. Maybe he’d stay for a whole month or at least a few weeks. He had to be staying at least a week. Otherwise the trip simply wouldn’t be worth it.

            “Uh,” Derek shifted, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know yet, I guess. Probably a while… if that’s okay?”

            “Dude, that’s fine!” Stiles said, waving a hand at Derek’s sudden discomfort. “That’s awesome! You can stay as long as you like! Your mom is okay with you being away for a while?”

            For a moment, Derek’s face looked stricken, crumpling into a deep frown that looked almost _painful_.

            Stiles felt the smile fall from his face. Maybe they had had a fight over it? Maybe Talia didn’t really want him to come at all? Maybe Stiles should say something. He wanted Derek to come, knew that Derek could probably smell the excitement coming off of him but he didn’t want Derek to come if it was going to cause a rift between him and his pack.

            “Yeah,” Derek said shortly, the hand gripping his bag tensing. “Yeah. She- she’s fine with it.”

            Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, couldn’t hear if Derek was lying but… honestly, he was too thrilled to press the issue. Talia would get over it. Derek was twenty-three now. He could make his own choices. He was allowed to be away from the pack for a few weeks. Plus Talia must not have outright forbidden it if Derek was coming. Stiles knew that wouldn’t be allowed.

            “This is gonna be awesome,” Stiles declared and he didn’t have to force the smile back onto his face. Derek took a breath and seemed to be better too, smiling back at Stiles and-

            Oh god, was he _blushing_ a little bit? Stiles purposefully looked away. He couldn’t handle it if Derek was blushing. He already felt practically giddy with excitement. He turned to the door, holding it open for Derek and trying not to be too obvious.

            “Scott and Isaac are gonna be psyched to see you!” he said, grinning as he imagined their faces. This was going to be great. “And probably Deaton too.”

            “And Mrs. McCall,” Derek said, smirking a bit. “I think I was her favorite.”

            “Please,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and trying to look stern. “You know that’s not true. I exist.”

            Derek shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as Stiles shut the door. Stiles took a few quick steps so the two were walking side by side and it was suddenly a perfectly wonderful day.

 

*^*^*^

 

            His eyes had been closed a minute, maybe two, when a twig snapped in the distance and he was practically bolting awake again.

            Derek frowned at himself, trying to pull the blanket around him tighter without moving too much. He didn’t want to wake Stiles up. At least one of them should be well rested.

            Of all the problems Derek thought he was going to have, not being able to sleep outside wasn’t one of them.

            It hadn’t been an issue yesterday. Yesterday, he had curled up into his pile of blankets, plopped his head down on his backpack and been asleep within moments. Of course, that might be because he had stayed up until three am for two nights in a row at that point and his head _ached_ from constantly questing for a pack and he had spent the morning saying goodbye to his family and the afternoon hiking with Stiles. So his success in falling asleep instantly the night before probably wasn’t indicative of his overall ability in the area.

            Still, he was a _werewolf_. He’d spent hundreds of hours in the woods. Thousands even. He _knew_ these woods. After two days, they were still on the edge of what could be considered Hale property. He shouldn’t be flinching awake at every snapped twig or whenever their small fire popped with sparks. He shouldn’t be straining his ears for larger animals or wondering what he would do if another werewolf discovered them.

            He should be asleep.

            He was going to sleep. He closed his eyes, firmly telling himself that he just wouldn’t open them until morning.

            Then the wind blew and a branch must’ve fallen somewhere in the distance because suddenly Derek was sitting up, eyes flashing gold as he scanned the woods.

            “Geez,” Stiles’ voice was thick with sleep but perhaps a little breathless as well, as if he had just snapped awake and Derek couldn’t smell him from across the fire but he knew that Stiles’ never slept very deeply. So he’d just woken him up. Great.

            He was about to apologize but then Stiles was chuckling to himself, a soft, happy noise that Derek had become achingly familiar with these past two days.

            “You’re awful jumpy for a werewolf,” Stiles said and his voice was open, inviting Derek to laugh with him and relax.

            “Sorry,” Derek muttered, frowning at himself. He knew Stiles needed his rest. He knew that Stiles was trying to make good time and get back to Beacon Hills.

            “You don’t need to be nervous,” Stiles told him.

            “I’m not nervous,” Derek replied, even though he was. He was tense and twitchy and _weak_. He could feel it in his bones. If something – a werewolf or a human or _anything_ attacked them right now, Derek didn’t know if he’d be able to stop them. He would try but he couldn’t heal as fast or hear as well or _smell_ practically anything and-

            He was so alone. There was no one watching out for him. If they got into trouble, no one would even know. No one would be coming to help him. And when he and Stiles were awake and moving and laughing, he was fine. He was _more_ than fine. He was happy and content and he knew he’d made the right choice even if nothing else ever happened between them.

            But now, lying awake in the darkness, it felt like every muscle in his body was on edge and his mind felt scrambled and empty and-

            He would be useless in an attack right now.

            He might lose. Stiles might get hurt.

            “Dude,” Stiles said, rolling to his side to look at him. “Your eyes are gold.”

            Derek stiffened further, realizing that Stiles was correct.

            Oh god, he had been looking around with _golden eyes_ in the middle of the night. Stiles was probably freaked out and uncomfortable. Of course, he couldn’t say for sure as he couldn’t fucking smell anything except for the smoke from the fading fire.

            “Sorry,” Derek repeated, taking a breath and trying to force them to stay their normal color. It made his night vision absolutely terrible though. But that’s all that Stiles had so he should learn to live with it.

            “It’s okay,” Stiles said, softly. “You should leave them like that if it makes you feel better.”

            “No,” Derek said, voice flat. The last thing Stiles needed was a reminder that he was currently alone in the middle of the woods at night with a fucking _werewolf_. He didn’t know the details of Stiles’ history, was only aware of the broadest outline but he couldn’t screw this up, couldn’t make Stiles’ sleep more difficult just because he was just now learning he was scared of the dark like a little kid.

            “Derek,” Stiles said and Derek knew he was rolling his eyes. Stiles was always rolling his eyes when he sounded like that. “I sleep with a knife under my pillow and have about five different packets of poisons strapped to me right now. I know what’s it like to-”

            He stopped abruptly, shifting onto his back and continuing more quietly into the night air.

            “Do what you have to do to feel safe, alright?” he said and his voice had gone a bit stiff and uncomfortable, like it always did when Stiles had to talk about something serious, but it was sincere. Firm, even.

            Derek slowly let his eyes shift back, happy that he could see everything more clearly, see _Stiles_ more clearly. Happy that he could see Stiles glance over at him, and stare openly for a second, maybe tensing for a brief moment before relaxing, one corner of his mouth quirking into a smile.

            “See,” Stiles said. “Better. Now go to sleep.”

            Derek looked up to the sky, trying to focus on the stars in the distance and not on the sounds and smells coming from close by. He shifted slightly, telling himself that he was just imagining the root suddenly pressing into the base of his spine, that he had checked and he was just-

            “You’re not asleep, are you?” Stiles said after a moment.

            “Sorry,” Derek said again, sighing in frustration. “It’s just very… open.”

            He felt stupid. He felt rich and spoiled and like an idiot but he was used to sleeping indoors. He was used to knowing there were walls around him and nothing was getting into his room without his permission. Here there were no defensible positions. None at all.

            “I know,” Stiles replied and his voice had gone soft again. “I like it.”

            Derek went still in an entirely new way. There was something open and vulnerable and serious in Stiles’ voice and for all they talked, Stiles was always, always hesitant to talk about _himself_ and what _he_ liked and-

            At the end of the day, that was all Derek really cared about.

            So he froze and tried not to breathe and was rewarded when Stiles’ continued, almost as if he were talking to himself.

            “It’s just big and open and there’s nothing keeping you anywhere,” Stiles was still on his back, facing the stars. “You’re not trapped, you know?”

            Derek nodded wordlessly.

            “If it were up to me, I’d sleep out here all the time,” Stiles confessed and Derek barely heard it over the soft sounds of the fire.

            “Why don’t you?” Derek asked, his voice sounding too hoarse and loud for the stillness of the night.

            “Sometimes I do,” Stiles shrugged and Derek glanced over to see his fingers drumming idly against his chest. “But it loses some of the magic when you’re in a village and it makes Scott worry, I think. Especially if I go too far away.” A beat. “Plus it rains sometimes. And it’s getting a bit cold for it.”

            They were all good reasons and his voice had lost its seriousness but Derek still saw the almost wistful look Stiles directed at the night sky.

            “I’ll get used to it,” Derek promised. If Stiles loved it than Derek would grow to love it. If Stiles wanted to and if Stiles wanted _him_ , then they could camp out all the time.

            “Even when it doesn’t rain, there’s dew. It gets wet,” Stiles told him, glancing over with a grin. “And you never get used to the roots everywhere.”

            “Still,” Derek said. Once he’d done it a few times and felt confident and had _pack_ again, he’d be fine. He’d be more than fine.

            “Alright,” Stiles replied and Derek turned his gaze back to the woods. Maybe he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight but that was okay. He was still a werewolf after all and he’d be able to keep up with Stiles. Maybe he’d just keep watch tonight and try again tomorrow night.

            He spent a few minutes staring determinedly at one point in the woods, and then rolled over to scan another area. Slowly, he allowed his hands to shift to claws as well because Stiles had _said_ he should do whatever he needed to do to feel safe and it’s not like Stiles could see them anyway so-

            Suddenly Stiles was standing and grabbing his blankets and there was a reflection as he grabbed a knife from underneath his backpack and then it was as if Derek blinked and Stiles was abruptly setting up his pile next to him.

            “What’re you-?” Derek asked, watching as Stiles reorganized his blankets a mere few feet from where Derek was lying.

            “I can hear your tension from over there,” Stiles said, fanning out his things and putting his knife underneath his bag. “I can’t sleep if you keep squirming around all night so… here.”

            He waved a hand at his new setup and then snuggled down into his blankets. Derek was still staring at him. There were still probably three or four feet of space between them and it’s not like they were even close to touching but-

            But Stiles was _right there_ , effectively creating a wall that blocked at least one point of attack. It really shouldn’t make Derek feel any better because they were still in the middle of the woods and he was still an Omega and-

            “There,” Stiles said decisively. “I’ve told you I’m armed. And I’ve got your back. So… sleep?”

            It took Derek a moment to answer because his heart had constricted and his throat was closed completely but after a moment, he managed to grit out:

            “I wasn’t scared.”

            It was a weak protest and it had already been established it was a lie but it made Stiles laugh as he rolled over to face away from Derek.

            “Mhmm,” Stiles mumbled and he was already falling back to sleep. They had hiked almost thirteen miles today by Derek’s estimate. “Big, brave, sour wolf right here.”

            Derek huffed to himself but rolled over so that he was facing the woods as well, wary for any attack.

            And then it did feel nice that his back was protected. That he had pack at his side.

            “Thanks,” he said as he felt his eyes slip closed.

            He was asleep before he knew whether or not Stiles heard him.

 

*^*^*^

 

            As he was falling, arms pin-wheeling to try to find something to grab, Stiles decided that this was Derek’s fault.

            Primarily because he had been twisting around to look at Derek who was laughing behind him as he stepped forward, so the reason he tripped in the first place was 100% Derek’s responsibility. Derek’s fault because sure, Stiles had been trying to be funny since Derek seemed to spend a majority of his time glaring into the woods, but Derek was the one that had finally broken and fucking _laughed._

            And in the brief moment he had to think about it, Stiles realized he had missed nine months of laughter and Derek almost never laughed so it was that rarity that had Stiles so desperate to see the full effect of laughter on Derek’s face.

            Hence Derek’s fault.

            Also, Stiles usually had wonderful reflexes, but Derek had spent the majority of the past four nights snapping awake at almost any noise. And Stiles had become an expert at sleeping through the sounds of the woods, but any kind of human or werewolf movement nearby had _him_ snapping awake so…

            His reflexes were a bit off. That’s probably why he missed the tree branch in the first place. Again, Derek was totally and completely to blame.

            Regardless, one moment Stiles was walking confidently through the woods, content to tell Derek a story about Mrs. McCall and her frankly ridiculous mothering of Isaac, and then the next he was sprawled on the ground, literally spitting leaves out of his mouth.

            “Are you okay?” Derek asked from above him, eyes wide and concerned, eyebrows forming a straight line across his forehead. His hands were hovering around Stiles as if he wanted to help pick Stiles up but he was too afraid to touch.

            Before Stiles left, Derek had gradually stopped treating him as if he were made of glass, likely to shatter at any moment. It wasn’t ever _romantic_ but Derek had been willing to gently nudge him on the shoulder or pull him too his feet. But now… it was like in the nine months or so he’d been gone, Derek had decided that touching Stiles was expressly forbidden.

            Stiles hated it. It made him feel weak and damaged and-

            “I’m fine,” Stiles muttered, annoyed. Annoyed that Derek couldn’t just _relax_ and annoyed that, despite it all, there was still a part of him that was grateful. He pushed himself up slowly, casually doing his usual check that nothing was seriously bruised or broken. Fingers good, hands good, shoulders good, neck good, toes fine, ankle-

            Shit, ankle less good. Not _bad_ , but not good either. Stiles sort of gasped as he tried to put weight on his right ankle and hopped over to sit on a stump.

            “Are you okay?” Derek was practically frantic. “Is it broken? How long will that take to heal? I don’t know anything about human healing.”

            “Derek,” Stiles said, waving a hand, smiling despite himself. “Relax. It’s just twisted. Gimme a minute and I’ll be fine.”

            He wasn’t lying. The pain was already fading and sprains didn’t get any worse if you walked on them so, yes, this was annoying but not a problem. He had worked and walked on worse. Much worse.

            “Can I?” Derek asked but then stopped and when Stiles looked up at him in confusion, Derek was carefully looking at the ground.

            “Can you what?” Stiles asked, still holding his ankle as if that would somehow help.

            “Take the pain,” Derek clarified and then before Stiles could answer, Derek was crouched in front of him, gently plucking Stiles’ ankle from his hands.

            His hands were still around the outside of Stiles’ pants and he was staring up at Stiles.

            Stiles should tell him no. That’s what he had said when Derek offered to do the same thing to the bruises on his face that first night in the library. It just hadn’t seemed right. It would have been too much. The library was too quiet and they were too alone and the bruises weren’t bad.

            He’d said no then. And Derek hadn’t pushed.

            A part of him still thought it would be wiser to say no now as well. Because, yes, if Derek took the pain it would disappear within moments, but Derek still felt it and Stiles would be fine in a few minutes anyway. Or, close to fine. But, hiking would be easier if he could _walk_ and Derek was just trying to help and he was already holding Stiles' stupid ankle so-

            “Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, hoping he seemed calmer than he was currently feeling. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, but he felt… jumpy.

            Derek was already pulling up his pant leg and pushing down his sock and Stiles gasped because _fuck_ suddenly he was grabbing his ankle and that _hurt_ and then-

            Then the pain was suddenly lessening and Stiles couldn’t help himself but watch in fascination as Derek’s veins turned _black_ and Derek might have been gripping harder, but Stiles couldn’t even feel it anymore.

            After a few moments, Derek dragged in a ragged breath and then he released Stiles’ ankle.

            “There,” Derek said and his voice was a bit tense and he sounded a bit winded, but still an odd mixture of concerned and pleased. “Feel better?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles said. He should take his eyes off Derek’s face. Or maybe stand up so that they could continue hiking.

            But he didn’t. He just kept staring, looking at Derek’s eyes which were greenish today, feeling somehow electrified.

            They really should start moving. They only had a few hours of daylight left.

            Derek must’ve had the same thought because he was suddenly rocking back on his heels and it hit Stiles that he didn’t want to move quite yet.

            He didn’t want to start walking again.

            He wanted…

            _Fuck it_ , he thought.

            And then he was leaning forward, left hand tangling in Derek’s jacket, right hand resting on his jaw, pulling Derek _up_ and pressing their lips together before he could stop himself.

            Derek floundered for a moment, almost losing his balance entirely, but then he must’ve balanced himself somehow – Stiles wasn’t following at the moment – because he was kissing Stiles back though their mouths remained closed and Derek’s hands weren’t touching him and-

            Stiles was _kissing_ Derek Hale.

            His eyes flew open at the revelation and Derek must’ve noticed or smelled it on him or something because the next moment Derek was leaning away, staring at Stiles as if he had just been hit.

            “Sorry,” Stiles gasped, out of breath even though he shouldn’t be. It had only been a few moments.

            He didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Maybe because he hadn’t even really bothered to check if kissing was something _Derek_ would want to do or because they had never talked about this or because Derek didn’t know the full extent of how screwed up he was and Stiles didn’t even know what Derek expected but he almost certainly couldn’t give it to him, at least not any time soon and-

            “No,” Derek said hoarsely. “No. I shouldn’t have- you didn’t have to- It’s my- I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

            “What?” Stiles asked. How on earth could this be _Derek’s_ fault? Hell, Stiles had practically just _grabbed_ him “No, I-”

            “I shouldn’t have pressured you,” Derek said firmly, finally standing and taking a few steps back. His eyes were angry but his frown was entirely aimed at himself.

            “Derek,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “You didn’t _pressure_ me. I-”

            His voice caught for a moment and he wanted to look away but he had to make sure Derek _knew_ this so he forced himself to stand as well and look directly at Derek.

            “I wanted to,” he admitted and it was a terrifying confession because Stiles had never wanted anything like that. He had been sure that he never would want… that.

            And there was a part of his mind that was still screaming that he didn’t. The he knew what sex with a werewolf entailed and he didn’t want to be held down or bitten or clawed open. Stiles looked away, afraid for a moment that he was lying, that he had started something he had no hope of finishing.

            But then Derek shifted, not moving forward but side to side as if he had too much energy to stand still and the movement drew Stiles attention and Derek was staring at him, a slow, hopeful, small smile quirking the corners of his mouth up and it was just… _Derek_. Stiles couldn’t help but smile back and repeat it, wondering idly if Derek’s shy smile would turn into a full grin. “I wanted to.”

            “You did?” Derek asked and his voice was so soft and filled with wonder that Stiles’ thoughts derailed further.

            “Yeah,” Stiles replied. He did. He wanted to kiss Derek and then he _had_.

            It wasn’t his first kiss. Not by a long shot.

            But it was the first one he’d wanted. The first one he’d started.

            “Can I?” Derek asked, shifting from side to side again. It should have made him feel threatened, like Derek was about to pounce.

            It didn’t. Maybe because that was the first time anyone had ever asked him that.

            “Yeah,” he said, feeling like he should be able to say something more.

            But then Derek was moving towards him and reaching towards him and despite the fact that it was _Derek_ , Stiles still tensed a little when Derek stepped into his space but he took a breath and reminded himself he _wanted_ this and it was Derek so it would be fine and-

            For a moment, Stiles didn’t even know if he was being kissed. Derek’s left hand was so light on Stiles’ shoulder that it was practically hovering and his right was resting at the base of his neck, fingers threading through his hair but not grabbing, not _yanking_ and Derek’s mouth was against his own but it was achingly soft. It was gentle and hesitant and careful and-

            It was all the things Stiles didn’t know a kiss could be.

            He felt the tension drain out of his body and brought his hands up to rest against Derek’s chest and they stayed like that for a long moment. Eventually, the kiss became... fiercer somehow - harder - and Derek’s mouth didn’t open but his lips moved as if they might and Stiles’ mind was already rushing ahead, firmly trying to remind himself that this was _good_ and he was _okay_ and-

            Then Derek was stepping away and the tips of his ears were red and Stiles realized that he had never seen Derek look so happy before. He was clearly trying to hide it, but the right side of his mouth was curling up into a smile he couldn’t hide and his eyes weren’t dilated but they were dancing somehow and the blush- fuck, the _blush_ -

            It made Stiles wonder what he looked like. If his face was red or if his mouth was pulled up into a smile or if he looked like he felt: a bit shaky and breathless

            It didn’t really matter. There was no way that he looked as good as Derek.

            Though Derek was looking at him like he did. 

            “We should-” Derek had to stop to clear his throat. “We should- uh- keep walking, I guess.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles agreed. Walking would be good. They would get to Beacon Hills and he could think about this and… yeah, moving was good.

            “Is your ankle okay?”

            Stiles blinked. Honestly, he had completely forgotten about it.

            “It’s fine,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. Derek sort of frowned at him, doubt all over his face.

            It shouldn’t make him laugh but it did.

            “It is,” he promised. “Thanks for… you know.”

            “Well. Try not to trip,” Derek said and then he was walking forward, almost as if the whole _kissing_ hadn’t happened. “Next time I’m not helping.”

            “Oh, please,” Stiles said, moving to follow Derek. “It was your fault I fell anyway.”

            Predictably, Derek objected to that and they argued about it for the next forty-five minutes.

            Stiles couldn’t even say who eventually won the debate.

 

*^*^

 

            As had become disturbingly common, Derek fought not to grin at Stiles’ back as they moved through the woods. Especially since Stiles had just twisted around to glare at him, doubtless because he had missed some cue that it was his turn to interject something.

            It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening to Stiles at the moment, he was, really, it was just that Stiles had begun repeating himself at this point and Derek was getting a little bit distracted by the way his hands flailed through the air as he spoke, recklessly pushing three branches out of the way, snagging leaves to tear to shreds and then toss over his shoulder.

            “We’re going to be there by this afternoon,” Stiles said, frowning in an entirely exaggerated manner. “You’ve got to know who everybody is before we get there!”

            “I know everyone,” Derek replied. And he knew they were arriving at Beacon Hills this afternoon. Stiles had told him three times this morning. And twice yesterday.

            Plus, he could smell it. Not always, not totally, but he’d caught a whiff of fires earlier this morning and the scent of humans just a few minutes ago.

            However, he decided not to remind Stiles of this fact because when he had earlier, Stiles had frowned, looking concerned that the scent had carried this far. Derek’s assurance that he probably only thought anything of it because he was looking for it and that they were deep enough in one of the neutral territories so it was highly unlikely any werewolf would be walking around hadn’t seemed to calm him at all. Stiles had gone silent and tense for a full half hour, clearly thinking something over and Derek had gone silent as well, content to let Stiles think while he kept watch.

            Then Stiles had reanimated and declared that it was essential Derek at least have an idea of who everyone was before they arrived at camp and so the last two hours or so had been spent doing that.

            There had been a lot of hand motions and Stiles repeating himself and more and more stories being revealed and Derek couldn’t even have described how wonderful it all was.

            They’d kissed only twice more. Both times had been instigated by Stiles. Once when Stiles got back from quickly washing in a nearby stream, still shivering and trembling from the cold. He curled himself into Derek’s chest first, gruffly telling Derek to use his freakish werewolf heat for something useful and Derek had been so startled and content with just being allowed to wrap his arms around Stiles that he’d still been surprised when Stiles suddenly straightened and pressed their lips together. Though, looking back, he thought maybe it should have been obvious. And then the next time was completely random. They had been walking, Stiles had said something, Derek had nodded and opened his mouth to agree and then suddenly Stiles had turned around and kissed him. Both had been shy and closed-mouthed and lasted only for a minute, only long enough for Derek to decide to hesitantly reach up and tangle his fingers in Stiles’ wet hair or grab Stiles’ hand in his own or gently loop his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pull him closer.

            Both times, as with the first time, they’d stopped as soon as Stiles leaned back or tensed or if Derek caught any whiff of discomfort radiating from him, however muted it may be.

            Stiles was safe with him. Derek was ready to prove it a thousand times if he needed to. And, honestly, he wished there were something to say when Stiles’ eyes cut to him afterwards, looking embarrassed and unsure. But he didn’t know how to phrase it so he just always let his face break into something like a smile and started walking again, making a point to talk about something normal and hope that Stiles got the message anyway.

            And the message was that Derek thought those kisses were the most wonderful thing to ever happen to him. Because three kisses in two days meant that Stiles _wanted_ to kiss him three times in just two days and there was still a part of Derek that thought that this must all be a dream. Because not so long ago, Derek had declared it to be a good day if Stiles merely _smiled_ at him and now suddenly it was looking like Stiles actually wanted to _kiss_ him.

            And when Stiles’ kissed him, the constant pressure in his head to _find a pack_ disappeared and  the crushing sense of _alone_ didn’t feel so bad and everything and anything was worth it.

            “Derek!” Stiles was saying, looking back at him again to glare at him. Derek blinked. He might have missed another cue.

            “What?” he asked.

            “I _said_ ,” Stiles continued and Derek felt bad. Clearly he was repeating himself. “That there is no way you already know _everyone_ you need to know. We’ve only been practicing for like an hour!”

            “We should’ve started this days ago,” Stiles muttered, clearly annoyed.

            “I do!” Derek said. Stiles turned enough to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “I’ll prove it. Ask me anything.”

            “Alright,” Stiles said a note of challenge was in his voice, the same one that he used when they used to play cards with Isaac or Scott or when Stiles bet that he could find the book Derek was looking for before Derek could. It was playful and light and Derek had to take a breath because he certainly wasn’t going to lose just because Stiles’ smile made him happier than he thought he had any right to be. “Lydia.”

            “Took over the written records,” Derek answered, smirking. “Twenty one years old, super smart- taught herself to read on her own when she was four, escaped five years ago but just came to Beacon Hills with the Argents.”

            “And?” Stiles prompted.

            “Terrifying,” Derek said. “You and Scott have stopped going into the records room completely because every time you do, she yells at you.”

            “I didn’t say we were scared of her!” Stiles protested. “She’s just… intense. And she has everything organized. And she doesn’t like when you mess it up.”

            “You told me one time you and Scott engaged in what became an hour long wood-cutting contest to decide who had to go tell her that someone had miscalculated how much corn was planted and so the records were wrong.”

            “Well… that was still very early on. When she was still attempting to make sense of our system. Which, granted, wasn’t a very good system.”

            “You said you tried to make Isaac do it when you lost.”

            “Okay, okay,” Stiles grumbled, waving his hands. “Let’s move on! Gerard.”

            “Allison’s grandfather,” Derek answered promptly. “We hate him,”

            “No!” Stiles said, glancing over his shoulder. “No, we don’t _hate_ him. He’s just…”

            Stiles faded out and he’d turned back around but Derek still knew he was frowning. Even without the scent of wariness and caution that wafted off of him, Stiles’ pensive silence and sudden lack of arm motions would have told him that.

            “We’re just not sure about him,” Stiles finally. “Allison loves him though so we don’t hate him but… we’re watching him, okay. Keeping an eye out.”

            “For what?” Derek asked. “You don’t think he’s going to challenge Scott, do you?” That happened sometimes, especially with new packs where the Alpha’s line wasn’t secure. With humans it was probably even more complicated.

            “Oh, he already does that,” Stiles said, shrugging. “So far, it’s been nothing that Scott can’t handle. We’re just have to make sure he actually keeps his word about certain things. Him and his crazy daughter.”

            “Kate,” Derek supplied. Gerard’s daughter was Kate and his son was Chris and that was Allison’s father and he seemed to like Scott well enough even if he wasn’t overjoyed that his daughter was seeing someone so seriously.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said. “Yeah, we gotta keep an eye on her too.”

            Derek frowned. That didn’t seem to make much sense. That’s now how werewolves did it. If you were in the pack, you were in the pack and everyone knew it and even if you didn’t always _like_ your pack-mates (honestly, his mother spent a large portion of her time annoyed at Peter), you always trusted them. You didn’t have to keep an eye on them.

            But human packs were different, Derek supposed, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. Maybe in human packs, there were a lot more politics and maybe you didn’t just automatically trust everyone.

            It sounded exhausting. But it would be okay. Derek already knew who he trusted. The rest would fall in to place.

            “Alright,” Stiles said. “Who does Mrs. McCall live with?”

            “Joe and Nancy,” Derek said. “And you didn’t tell me their last name because if you ever call them Mr. and Mrs. Their Last Name, they hit you.”

            “Hard,” Stiles said. “Nancy is mean with a spoon.”

            “But they’re nice?” Derek asked, making it a question. Stiles hadn’t talked as much about them as he had about others.

            “Oh, yeah,” Stiles said. “They sort of ran the place before we showed up. Scott hangs out with them more than I do, visiting his mom and all.”

            Stiles was shrugging casually, like it didn’t matter but his scent had gone sort of… stiff? Derek wanted to ask about it but he knew that Stiles hated it when he did that, figuring out his emotions by his sense of smell.

            “Got it,” he said instead. “Okay, who next?”

            “Danny.”

            “Technical genius,” Derek said. “Working on-”

            Derek dropped to the ground, covering his ears before the sound even hit him fully.

            There was a _sound_ , a shrill, stabbing, _inhuman_ sound.

            Derek wanted to move, to run away from it, to protect Stiles somehow.

            But he couldn’t. All he could do was hold his head and whimper and lie there.

            There was no pack coming for him.

**End Part II.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: It's very brief but in this chapter Stiles and Derek do kiss and that causes some issues for Stiles. 
> 
>  
> 
> See! Look! I promised the Sterek would happen and it's happening! I keep my promises!
> 
> Just so you know, it probably will be a full week until the next chapter- I have papers and the like and then Thursday, I fly back to the States for Christmas!
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	3. Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, THANK YOU so much to everyone who left comments/kudos. I only reply to people with direct questions, but please know that I read all comments at LEAST three times and then again whenever I am feeling doubtful or sad so they mean the world to me!
> 
>  This chapter has been a thorn in my side this past week. Therefore, I haven't had the chance to read it over as much as I would like before posting. Apologies in advance for any typos you may find. I will probably be reading it obsessively and fixing any i find for a few days- but I said Friday and I wanted to get this up!
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warnings at the bottom**

**Part III**

 

            As Derek dropped to the ground, gasping in pain, Stiles immediately crouched, reaching down to the knife he always kept in his boot and the packets of poison he kept taped to his hip.

            He turned, ready to use both of them when he realized he couldn’t see what was wrong.

            There wasn’t anything actually _attacking_ Derek. He was just curled on the ground, holding his head as if he were dying and oh fuck, what if he was dying? What if this was some rare werewolf disease that Stiles didn’t know about and- there was nothing for him to fight!

            He spun around again, willing his eyesight to be sharper, willing himself to _see what was wrong_.

            “Stiles!” Stiles jumped at the voice, recognizing it only dimly and only as _not Derek_. “We got him, you can step away now.”

            Chris Argent stepped into view a moment later, followed quickly by Kate. He was dressed in his usual mix of brown and greens, not unlike Stiles himself, looking both concerned and pleased.         

            “What are you _doing_?” Stiles snapped, making no move to step away. They were still three hours away from camp, the fucking Argents shouldn’t even _be_ here and Derek was still practically writhing on the ground and he had to _stop hurting Derek_.

            “Danny finished the sound emitters,” Chris said, holding up a small black box. He was just now starting to frown in confusion. “Apparently it works.”

            For a moment, Stiles had to rack his brain to figure out what on _earth_ Chris was talking about. Sound emitters? Wha-

            Oh, right. Sound emitters. Things that emitted a sound that couldn’t even be heard by humans but would render werewolves-

            “Turn it off!” he said, reaching for it. Luckily, Chris seemed too surprised at his outburst to stop him.

            For a moment, Stiles fumbled with it, hands shaking with adrenaline. Then, after what seemed like years, he managed to hit the button downward and he couldn’t hear anything but Derek stopped whimpering, though he still lay gasping for breath.

            “Stiles,” Chris said keeping his voice level. Stiles saw that he was reaching for his gun.

            Oh fuck it all, Kate already had her crossbow pointed at Derek.

            “That is a werewolf,” Chris said, slowly, like he was talking to some kind of idiot.

             “No _shit_ ,” Stiles hissed, firmly stepping in between Derek and Kate. “Do you know who that is?”

            Neither of the Argents said anything. Chris at least looked semi-thoughtful. Kate looked like she was trying to figure out if the arrow would have enough velocity to kill Derek if it went through Stiles first.

            Shit, this was why he didn’t like the Argents. The whole lot of them were fucking crazy. Well… except for maybe Allison.

            “This is Derek Hale!” Stiles said, gesturing wildly. He still had too much adrenaline coursing through him. “Hale! As in Talia’s son!”

            Chris frowned. Kate raised an eyebrow.

            Seriously. It was like the Argents purposefully tried to learn exactly zero about the history of Beacon Hills.

            “The Hales _started_ Beacon Hills,” Stiles said. “They’re on _our side_.”

            Derek sort of groaned from behind him but he wasn’t panting as much anymore and Stiles figured now would be as good a time as ever to help him get his feet again. Maybe it would give Chris and Kate a moment to figure out what was going on now that he had so clearly explained it to them. He turned and held out a hand, idly hoping he wasn’t about to get shot, but was relieved when Derek took it and leveraged himself to his feet.

            His eyes were still gold and his fingernails were still more claw than hand, but his fangs had shifted back enough to that they fit in his mouth. He looked at least mostly human at the moment, which Stiles guessed was a good thing. Especially when dealing with trigger-happy ex-slaves.

            Shit, Scott complained that _Stiles_ was being too intense about things. He really needed to have a look at his fucking girlfriend’s family. Stiles had been trying to warn him for months about this. The Argents had agreed to stay in Beacon Hills because it was safer than being on the run, as they had been for so long, and because Allison had wanted to but they still weren’t quite a _part_ of Beacon Hills. At least, not according to Stiles.

            They never would be. Stiles knew that because Stiles _understood_ the Argents and maybe a part of him even respected them but-

            But that didn’t mean he was going to let them hurt Derek.

            “Put those down,” he ordered, hand still curled around Derek’s elbow.

            Chris obeyed. Kate didn’t.

            “We’re not just letting him into camp,” she said.

            “Uh, yeah, pretty sure we are,” Stiles shot back. “What else would we do? Where else would he go?”

            “He could just go back where he came from,” Chris suggested, though he didn’t sound too certain.

            Stiles had a sarcastic response on his lips when he felt Derek tense beneath his hand, a glance at his face told him that Derek looked honestly _worried_.

            He went for something more direct.

            “No,” Stiles growled. “He’s on our side and he’s coming with us.”

            “ _We’re_ in charge of security,” Kate snapped.

            “Yeah, because _Scott_ put you in charge,” Stiles said. It had been his idea. It had seemed like a good plan at the time: it let the Argents use the skills they’d honed over three years while also keeping them contained.

            Up until now, it had worked rather well. Stiles could admit that the family had a lot of experience and some of their anti-werewolf tricks were downright _useful_. The sound emitters were just the beginning.

            The Argents had brought Mountain Ash with them. Mountain Ash, which had the power to keep werewolves _out_.

            It was… most days Stiles thought that knowledge alone was worth putting up with any overzealous eccentricities.

            But not at this moment. Not when Derek was stiff beneath him and the goddamn middle generation of Argents was staring at him like he was a young child and they had the authority to tell _him_ what to do.

            “You can tie me up,” Derek suddenly blurted into the loaded silence. Stiles turned to glare at him but Derek merely lifted his eyebrows in a shrug. “If that will help.”

            Chris was chewing his bottom lip as if he were thinking it over.

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Stiles said, both to Derek and to Kate who had started smirking. “There’d be no point. He’s a _werewolf_. He can break through ropes in a second if he wants to.”

            “Not if we use rope coated with hemlock,” Kate said, openly grinning now.

            “No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “We’re not tying him up with something that will fucking _burn_ him.”

            That’s what hemlock did. Or at least that’s what it did to werewolves when mixed with the right amount of wolfsbane. Deaton had said it wouldn’t lead to permanent damage, that the rash would only last as long as it was in direct contact but even with that assurance, Scott had barely agreed to its production.

            “It won’t hurt that badly if he doesn’t struggle,” Chris said and at least he sounded a bit apologetic that it had come to this.

            “That’s not the point,” Stiles argued. “This is completely-”

            “Stiles,” Derek interrupted. “It’s fine.”

            “What? No,” Stiles stuttered. “It’s still at least two hours back to camp. Probably three! You don’t have to.”

            “It will heal as soon as we will take it off,” Chris promised, turning his attention to Derek. Stiles was still trying to shake his head as Derek nodded stiffly and crossed his hands at the wrists in front of him.

            “Not you,” Stiles snapped as Kate stepped forward. Luckily, Kate merely laughed and passed the rope to Chris. From what Stiles could tell, Chris tied Derek’s hands no tighter than strictly necessary but Derek still flinched a little and Stiles almost stopped this whole thing.

            But then Derek looked over at him and he didn’t smile exactly, but his eyebrows went up just a fraction and his eyes softened and Stiles knew that look, knew what it meant by now. He’d seen it three times over the past two days.

            He’d seen it after every kiss that Derek ended by gently pulling away which was always right as Stiles’ mind had rebooted enough to realize that he was _kissing a werewolf_ and remind him that he had no idea what he was doing and that after four years of silently screaming “no,” he didn’t even believe himself when he tried to say “yes.”

            It was awful and embarrassing and frustrating but that face somehow helped.

            It didn’t help nearly so much now.

            “Let’s go,” Stiles growled, striding forward.

            What followed was the most tense hike of Stiles’ life. The only positive thing about it was that Kate almost immediately faded into the woods, doubtless to range ahead for danger so at least Stiles didn’t have to deal with her for the whole trip. Instead, he led the way, trying to hold all the branches so that Derek didn’t get whacked in the face _too_ often while also ignoring the fact that Chris’ hand didn’t leave the holster of his gun as he silently followed Derek.

            Stiles just tried not to panic. They just had to get back to Beacon Hills, get back to _Scott_ and then this whole thing could be cleared up. Scott would welcome Derek with open arms and Isaac would be excited and they could spend the next few weeks enjoying their time together. 

            Before he knew it, they were in range of the camp and Chris was pausing to radio in that they had found Stiles and would be back shortly. While Stiles was grateful that Chris had decided not to foreclose information on Derek over the radio, he still felt his stomach tighten with nerves because it wasn't Scott's voice that responded on the other end and he just prayed that Allison or someone was nearby to overhear and tell Scott.

            Scott would fix all this. And he could probably do it without violence. A notion that Stiles suspected was beyond his ability.

            He doubted it even more when he saw that the person waiting for them as they crossed into Beacon Hills was none other than _Gerard Argent._

            And apparently Kate wasn’t ranging ahead for danger but to get to Beacon Hills first because she was at her father’s elbow as he strode over angrily.

            “What is the meaning of this?” Gerard growled, coming to a stop a few feet in front of Stiles.

            “Where’s Scott?” Stiles demanded, throwing his bag to the ground for the moment. He wanted full range of motion. Just in case.

            He wasn’t willing to talk to Gerard Argent. Gerard _hated_ werewolves. Hated all of them. Stiles had known that years ago, when they were both owned by the Sanchez pack.

            At the time, Stiles hadn’t blamed him. The Sanchez’s weren’t the worst owners that Stiles and Scott had been bought by, not by a long shot but they were strict to the point of cruelty and they were content to feed their slaves scraps and not much more. Back then, Stiles would listen to the rants and raves about how terrible werewolves were and Gerard’s fantasies of killing them and nod in agreement. He was sixteen and all his experience with werewolves told him that Gerard was right. Werewolves sold you away from your parents without a second thought and starved you because they thought it was funny and beat you just because they could and a guard at the slave market had taken a liking to him and Stiles was too smart to think that it wouldn’t happen again.

            So Gerard talked and Stiles listened and agreed and thought that probably their goals were the same. But they weren’t. Not even back then. Because at the end of the day, Stiles didn’t have time for rants or plans to escape or fight back. He had to avoid getting punished enough so that he could keep Scott safe and sneak out to try to find medicine and… he had Scott. And Scott was never going to let him buy into Gerard’s brand of hatred. Scott _never_ hung around the slave quarters to listen to Gerard’s bitter speeches. He didn’t outright disagree with the older man, as even Scott’s faith in the goodness of people must have been worn down by four years of terror and torture, but he never nodded and he always dragged Stiles away. With Scott, there were other things to do- he needed Stiles to help him learn to juggle because he’d told Allison he knew how for some reason. Or he had found a packet of tomato seeds at the bottom of the pantry and he thought they could plant them by the side of the house where they would be hidden by the bushes and they could have tomatoes! Or he had invented a game involving the bits of bread they had that were too moldy to eat but he didn’t have the rules all figured out yet so Stiles had to help him.

            Scott had never agreed with Gerard and then Stiles had met the Hales – met _Derek_ – and he didn’t agree now either.

            But he wasn’t as good at defusing situations and Scott was the one who had managed to create a sort of peace with the Argents and so he needed Scott to get here. 

            “That _thing_ is not coming into this camp,” Gerard said. But he said it calmly. As if he had the authority to make the rules and he didn’t expect them to be questioned.

            “This is Derek _Hale_ ,” Stiles snapped, even though he knew it was useless. “And he is technically already _in_ this camp so-”

            “Not for long,” Gerard said and his tone was dismissive but his hand went up to the frankly ridiculous machete he kept with him at all times.

            “Don’t even think about it,” Stiles spat.

            “Dad,” Chris said and even he sounded concerned, stepping up to stand closer to Stiles almost between Gerard and Derek. “He came peacefully.”

            “I don’t care if he came peacefully,” Gerard said. “He’s a threat and I won’t stand for it.”

            “You’re welcome to go stand somewhere else then,” Stiles said. “And take your-”

            “Stiles!” Allison’s voice was a bit breathless and happy and clearly she hadn’t been told about the unfolding situation. She leaned over with her hands on her knees, panting. “Scott is on his way. I told him you were here but he had to finish…” She slowed as she straightened, finally noticing the tension in the air.

            “Something,” she finished weakly. “I went and told Isaac too. But… what’s going on?”

            Stiles and Allison got along. He had liked her back when she and Scott had floated around on bubbles of happiness four years ago. He had liked her because she made Scott happy and then because he got to know her and she was kind and funny and would laugh when they shared a look over some of Scott’s more ridiculous ideas _._ And then, five months ago, he’d found her and she hadn’t been mad that Scott pretty much abandoned her to go with Stiles. She’d come to Beacon Hills. She taught him to throw knives. In fact, he liked her even more now because she had grown up during her years on the run and she was absolutely _wicked_ with the bow she carried with her and coordinated almost all the hunting trips but her dimples still showed when she smiled and she always smiled when she was around Scott.

            Even though they rarely hung out alone and Stiles had admittedly been gone for big chunks of the five months she’d lived here, Stiles really did like her.

            He was reminded of that when she took once glance at Gerard’s glare and stance and immediately frowned in disapproval, taking a small step closer to her father. Which hopefully put her as another person Gerard would have to go through if he wanted to get to Derek.

            He also liked her because she had known to run and get Scott. And Isaac.

            Allison was a genius.

            “ _Stiles_ here,” Gerard said Stiles name as if it were a curse. “Thinks he can just bring a goddam werewolf into this camp.”

            “I don’t think I can,” Stiles replied. “I _know_ I can.”

            He was tense and nervous and _angry_ but a small part of him admitted that he almost loved this. That he could talk back and _fight_ back and he didn’t have to bite his tongue and just say _Yes, master_ and obey.

            “A werewolf?” Allison repeated and Stiles glanced away from Gerard only to recognize that her eyes had gone wide and round.

            “Probably a spy,” Gerard said. He was still glaring when suddenly he was being pushed to the side as if he didn’t exist.

            “Stiles!” Scott cried, launching himself forward, clearly paying no attention to anything else going on around him.

            Scott hit him with all the force of an avalanche and it was only years of experience with this type of affectionate attack that kept Stiles on his feet. Stiles relaxed into the hug for a moment, feeling Scott’s concern pour over him.

            “You were gone for over a week!” Scott said, squeezing tighter. “Nine days! Are you okay? Did it work? Mom’s going to kill you.”

            “Uh, Scott,” Stiles said. “There’s something you should-”

            Something in his voice must’ve given him away, because Scott was releasing him in an instant, eyes catching on his face and then finally looking around.

            Stiles _felt_ the moment Scott realized what was happening. He was suddenly standing straighter, pulling away from Stiles and steering him to stand at his side.

            Although a moment ago, Scott had failed to recognize anything other than the fact that Stiles was back, he needed only a moment to run his eyes over Derek and then the Argents and somehow assess the situation. Stiles saw his eyes narrow and immediately felt better. People didn’t get away with things when Scott made that face.

            “Untie him,” Scott’s voice was curt. “Now.”

            “Now wait just a minute,” Gerard said, stepping forward, seeming to finally realize that he might not get his way. “The people of this community should have some say in whether or not a _werewolf_ is welcome here. You can’t just-”

            “No,” Scott said and Stiles’ hand tensed around the knife that he had never put down. Normally, he would step in, attempt to facilitate some kind of compromise that at least pacified Gerard while successfully keeping him out of their way. But, Stiles could already tell from the stubborn set of Scott’s jaw that there would be no compromise. Not on this.

            This would be like when Scott decided they were leaving Matt as soon as Stiles’ wounds healed enough to stand the trip. This would be like when Scott informed Talia that she was _wrong_ to whip Stiles. This would be like when Gerard tried to argue that they should start researching methods of lethal force against werewolves.  

            “No,” Scott repeated. “That’s not how we do things here. Anyone who wants to be here is welcome.”

            “Anyone who we _trust_ ,” Gerard said, taking another angry step forward. “Not just anyone, not a _werewolf_. I don’t care who his mother is or how much you _think_ she’s done for you. He’s the-”

            “He’s my guest,” Scott said and he was still unnaturally calm. “Any further discussion will be held in private.”

            For the first time, Stiles dragged his eyes away from Gerard. Isaac had arrived and was looking much like Stiles assumed he was looking: tense and ready to defend Scott. Chris was frowning, Kate was glaring, Allison was looking torn and confused and-

            Yes, they were attracting a bit of a crowd even though they were on the outskirts of the community. Deaton had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, bringing with him Mrs. McCall. Joe and Nancy were openly gaping at Derek and there were at least three younger children hovering on the edges.

            And those were the people that Stiles could see without turning and scanning the whole area. Doubtless there were some behind him as well. Word would have gotten around that he had been found. Enough people would want to know how his mission went when he returned, even if many of them didn’t know the full details.

            Predictably, Gerard didn’t appreciate Scott’s casual tone of rebuke.

            “Listen, you little-”

            “We will continue this at Headquarters,” Scott said. Then he lifted his eyes to glance at the small crowd, pitching his voice so it would carry. “Anyone else who wishes to discuss my choice of guest is free to meet me there at any point.”

            His eyes told them he would be disappointed in whoever showed up. Stiles saw some heads already go down at the challenge there.

            It was ridiculous, Stiles thought. Completely ridiculous that _Scott_ , who was barely twenty years old, who had arrived less than a year ago was somehow in charge of Beacon Hills.

            It had never been formally established. When they’d first arrived, the current members of the community, most of them elderly and content to live out their days in relative freedom and peace, had been understandably overwhelmed by their new members. They’d tried to turn to Deaton first but Deaton had directed all questions to Scott and Scott was…

            Scott was everywhere those first few months. Talking to everyone, volunteering to help everyone, hobbling around on one leg and pouting when people tried to tell him to slow down. And then it wasn’t so much that he tried to become their leader as he’d volunteered to _do_ everything. Scott was in charge of organizing the new planting projects and then Scott was in charge of making sure the buildings were complete on time and then it was Scott’s idea to build a school even though there were not enough children yet to warrant such a thing. There would be, Scott assured everyone and then it had happened.

            Then everything had happened. The amount of records and plans and lists they acquired over only three months had grown too big for their small cottage so Scott had asked if people wouldn’t mind helping them build an office. And Scott had spent so long helping everyone _else_ that of course people were going to help him. And then Stiles had made a point to start calling it Headquarters and Scott had scoffed at the name, but it had stuck and suddenly all the different operations of camp where being run through that one location. Deaton came to report on the various food projects, including the more scientific testing of poisons. Isaac’s work with Harris had proven him almost supernaturally good at organizing building projects so he’d taken over that. Mrs. McCall came in to demand medical supplies.

            And Stiles knew what he was good at. He’d been practicing for years before they’d ever arrived at Beacon Hills. So as soon as they were set up with the basics, Stiles worked on acquisitions. Of all kinds.

            Still, so much of Scott’s leadership went unsaid. Yes, people _knew_ that almost everything went through Scott but it really just seemed like the best way to keep things organized. And Scott was so nice and open and still spent large portions of his days helping _anyone_ who asked that it just made sense to run all the major ideas past him first. And a good portion of the minor issues as well.

            There had been a few people that grumbled, a few of the long-time members of the community who complained that things were changing too much, that all this was only going to attract attention. Stiles had made note of them, had casually mentioned their names to Scott so that Scott could go talk to them individually and win them over. With most of them, a little one on one attention, a chance to hear Scott’s vision for Beacon Hills was all they needed to come around. Still, Stiles had a list of their names in his private desk at the house.

            By the time the Argents had showed up, hard and wary from having been on the run for almost three years, there was no doubt as to who would be overseeing their incorporation into Beacon Hills. Most people seemed relieved that Scott was the one who had to handle it.

            Now Scott was all but glaring around the camp, practically daring people to challenge him on this, casually reminding everyone that _he_ was the leader of Beacon Hills, and no one was saying anything. Stiles even saw a few nods from the crowds.

            “Isaac,” Scott said, his eyes flicking to Derek’s hands. Isaac nodded and stepped forward to untie them.

            Gerard made an angry noise in the back of his throat, almost like a growl and Kate lifted her crossbow the barest inch but neither of them stopped it. Stiles watched only long enough to see the red start to heal and the pain smooth from Derek’s face.

            “Let’s go,” Scott said, still sounding disgusted with the whole proceeding. Then he was turning and heading towards Headquarters and Stiles fell into step behind him.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Derek knew that he should probably be a bit more panicked than he currently was. Once again, he had proven himself somewhat naïve- he honestly hadn’t even thought about the possibility that the people of Beacon Hills would object to having a werewolf in their midst. In the Hale Household, humans and werewolves got along and he’d just assumed that the humans of Beacon Hills would be the same way. And he needed them to be. Because he couldn’t leave Stiles.

            So, yes, there was reason to be concerned. And annoyed at himself. Really, he should be at least trying to explain the situation, either to the Argents or to Scott or to Mrs. McCall who was staring at him as if he weren’t quite real.

            But he wasn’t.

            Because Scott was _radiating_ authority. And the thought of interrupting him was unfathomable.

            Derek had felt Scott’s power before, had seen it rise up to challenge his mother’s, had watched him casually give out orders and expect them to be obeyed, had submitted to him without even realizing it himself.

            But… he didn’t know if it was because Scott now had a formal pack of his own, or if it was because he was directly handling a situation as an Alpha right now, or if it was that Derek was an Omega and so he was more susceptible to an Alpha’s authority. Maybe it was because Derek knew that Scott would be _his_ Alpha eventually. Maybe not soon because he wanted to explain the situation first, make sure that Stiles was okay with all of it but- someday he would be.

            Regardless of the reason, Scott was thrumming with strength and power and, once again, Derek didn’t understand how humans seemed so immune to it. As for himself, he barely noticed when Isaac untied him, only dimly noting that he had begun to heal, though not as quickly as he would have if he were still in a pack. Someone took his bag and he couldn’t even be concerned as where it would end up. He just followed his instincts, followed Scott and Stiles dumbly, trying to ignore the idea of _threat_ that followed him in the form of Gerard, Kate, and Chris. He kept his eyes on Scott and Stiles and tried to herd Isaac forward so that he wouldn’t get hurt if Gerard decided to lung at Derek from behind.

            “Headquarters” turned out to be a small building, containing only one room with an oversized table pushed to the corner and a variety of chairs scattered throughout. The walls were covered with pieces of papers held up by nails. Derek didn’t have time to read them, only to note that a good portion of them seemed to be written in Stiles’ clumsy handwriting. The whole room smelled strongly of Scott and Stiles, even to his Omega senses, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking a deep breath. It calmed him, even if it wasn’t pack. Not yet.

            Scott walked to the middle of the room and stopped, forcing everyone to fan around him. Stiles stayed by his right while Deaton and Mrs. McCall slide to stand to the left of him. Gerard, Kate, and Chris stood opposite him. Derek wanted to stand by Stiles, but he knew it wasn’t his place yet, so he moved to stand to the side, grateful when Isaac remained with him in what had become the neutral zone in Derek’s head. In the rough circle they had created, Derek noted that Allison stood across from him, her eyes cutting between Scott and her grandfather, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

            Gerard barely waited for the door to close behind him before starting to speak.

            “This is ridiculous,” the older man said. “Werewolves are the _enemy_. We’ve all fought for years to _escape_ slavery and you want one to come and _live_ with us?”

            Scott didn’t say anything.

            There was a beat of silence before Gerard seemed to realize that Scott wasn’t arguing with him and rushed to fill the void of silence.

            Derek didn’t bother listening. He didn’t need to. He could smell the hatred and anger and disgust radiating from the man. It overpowered even the familiar smell of Isaac next to him.

            In the face of such hatred, his isolation felt like a physical threat.

            Scott had crossed his arms in front of him, looking angry but willing to let Gerard rant. Next to him, Stiles’ eyes were flashing and a few times he opened his mouth, doubtless to interrupt but Scott’s hand would un-cross long enough to rest briefly on Stiles’ forearm and he would fall silent. Mrs. McCall looked openly worried, as did Isaac. Kate and Gerard were obviously furious while Chris’ frown was more unreadable. As usual, Deaton looked completely and utterly calm.

            “… can’t stay here,” Gerard finished. He was older than Derek had pictured him, completely bald now, but still strong. He wasn’t frail.

            “He’s my guest,” Scott said simply, as if Gerard’s rant hadn’t even happened. “He can stay as long as he likes.”

            “He’s dangerous!” Gerard growled.

            “To my knowledge, Derek has never hurt anyone,” Scott replied. “I doubt that will change.”

            “Even if he doesn’t _hurt_ anyone,” Gerard said. “He’ll know too much. About us. About our operations.”

            “His mother helped start this community,” Scott said, and a flash of impatience finally seeped into his voice. “There’s not much about it that she doesn’t already know.”

            “You know that’s not true,” Gerard said and Scott frowned, for the first time looking a touch unsure.

            “Even if that’s true,” Stiles spoke up, glaring. “Derek wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

            “Oh, wouldn’t he?” Gerard said, voice softer but somehow colder. “He’s a fucking were. They’re loyal only to their goddam _packs_. One word from his Alpha and he’ll tell her everything.”

            “That’s not-” Scott started, eyes flashing in anger.

            Then he stopped abruptly because Derek had moved.

            He didn’t remember making the conscious decision to do so but… suddenly it was all too much. The talk about being loyal to a pack and to an Alpha and Scott _was_ his Alpha, he could feel it and he knew how to end this.

            A part of him was screaming to wait, that he had to talk about this first, that this was too soon and all wrong but all his instincts told him to just do it. He couldn’t stand being alone for one moment longer.

            He moved in front of Scott and dropped to his knees before anyone could react.

            “I submit to you as Alpha,” Derek said, looking up at Scott’s shocked face.

            He heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath but didn’t look over. Couldn't. 

            “I vow to obey, serve, and protect the pack” Derek said, speaking clearly. The vows weren't complicated. Just encompassing.

            “From now until the end.” 

            In true werewolf fashion, the end wasn't defined. He'd been fascinated by that as a kid, had grilled his mother on it, had wanted to know what it meant and why anyone would leave their pack and-

            It made more sense now. 

            Slowly, he titled his chin up and to the side, breaking eye contact to look down as he did so.

            The words were tradition. He had said the same ones to his mother the night of his tenth birthday but every pack had their own variations.

            Baring your throat wasn’t tradition. It was a necessity.

            For a moment, Scott didn’t move and Derek had the horrifying thought that maybe he didn’t _want_ Derek in his pack or maybe he didn’t know what to do but then Scott was crouching to grab a small knife out of his boot.

            The cut Scott drew along his neck was shallow and thin and Derek felt it start to heal over almost instantly.

            Then Scott’s hand was against his neck, one finger pressing and keeping the wound open.

            “I accept your vows,” Scott said and his voice shook but he sounded determined. “I accept you into this pack.”

            Derek sucked in a breath as suddenly the cut _burned_. The heat spread, racing through his body and then-

            “Stand and join us,” Scott finished, his hand still resting against Derek’s throat, making it a formal command and Derek was obeying before he even thought about it.

            Then he was standing and Scott was staring at him and then Derek didn’t know if Scott felt the same urges werewolves did to mark their territory or if Scott was just _Scott_ but then he was pulling Derek into a fierce hug, not bothering to take the time to remove his hand from where it curled around Derek’s neck and Derek felt every muscle in his body loosen because _it had worked_.

            He didn’t realize how worried he’d been that it would fail, that somehow, despite his mother’s assurances, humans just didn’t have the necessary power to forge the bonds of pack officially.

            But they did. Or at least Scott did.

            Because it had worked. Derek could _feel_ them. Just like he’d be able to with his family. Maybe even more.

            Perhaps it was because Scott was younger than his mother or because he had gotten used to life as an Omega, but the part of Derek’s mind that was dedicated to pack was nearly overwhelmed with Scott’s authority- he was a bright, warm light and for a moment it was all Derek could focus on. And then he took a deep breath and there was Stiles. He was closer to Scott that Peter had been to his mother, almost on equal footing, close enough that if you didn’t know to look for him, you might miss him entirely.  

            Isaac was there too, fierce and loyal, as was Mrs. McCall. There was another person Derek’s didn’t immediately recognize but her personality was an odd mixture of calm and fire and he assumed this must be Lydia. Even Deaton was there, though so faint that Derek almost missed him completely. Three other pricked as his awareness much as the twins used to, not formally pack yet but almost and Derek didn’t think they were children.

            And suddenly Derek understood why the Argents needed to be watched. Stiles had spoken as if they were a major part of Beacon Hills and Derek had assumed that given that fact, and Allison’s involvement with Scott, that they were pack. But they weren’t. Not even Allison was.

            “Well,” Deaton said mildly from off to the side. “I suppose that settles that.”

            It was then that Derek remembered where he was, who he was with, what he had just done.

            Fuck.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles was fairly certain his brain was broken.

            Dimly he was aware that Gerard Argent was still yelling, that Scott’s voice was finally rising in return, that at one point Derek wolfed out and _growled_ until Scott said his name with an air of disappointment that had Derek flinching back immediately.

            Because Scott was Derek’s Alpha now.

            Derek was in their pack. Human-pack.

            Stiles had spent the large majority of his life in situations of various degrees of unpleasantness. Maybe he used to be surprised by it. Maybe back when he and Scott were first sold, he was shocked by the amount of work that was expected of them or how little they were given to eat or the horrifying imaginations of the werewolves who could think of punishments such as forcing slaves to line up and stand in painful positions, promising to beat anyone who didn’t last long enough.

            But he had stopped being surprised by things like that years ago. Eventually, he’d come to the realization that things could always get worse and probably _would_ get worse and he simply didn’t have the energy to be alarmed anymore.

            Even Matt hadn’t shocked him. Horrified him, yes. Terrified him and ruined him in more ways than one but he hadn’t been _shocked_. When Matt forced his head to the side, declared him boring, and curled his claws around Stiles’ shoulder and halfway down his back, Stiles hadn’t managed to feel any true disbelief that it had happened. Perhaps there was a dull sense of surprise, an acknowledgment that he hadn’t seen _that_ coming, but really he was too concerned with pushing himself to his feet and dragging himself away from the sound of laughter to get to Scott to spare a moment to be stunned.

            Scott hadn’t been shocked either. He’d been furious. Probably terrified too but it was his anger that Stiles remembered. He remembered hoping it wasn’t directed at him because he couldn’t handle another punishment right them. Then he remembered it was Scott and he really must’ve lost a lot of blood because how did he not recognize _Scott_ and-

            He had passed out mercifully soon after.

            Regardless, Stiles was pretty sure he was long past feeling true shock.

            Then, Derek had stiffened and marched over to Scott and sunk to his _knees_ and was submitting to Scott and joining their pack and-

            Stiles had been sure it was some kind of trick. A fake little ritual with fake vows just to get Gerard Argent off their backs.

            But then Scott had grabbed a knife and was accepting Derek into the pack and his eyes had flashed _red_ , just for the briefest instant, just as he’d pressed his fingers to the cut on Derek’s neck and-

            That’s about when Stiles’ brain had realized that this was real and had decided to stop functioning.

            Derek had joined their pack. He’d left his family. He was going to stay with them. In Beacon Hills. Forever.

            The _What If_ scenario that Stiles had told himself over and over could never happen had just happened.

            “-regret this,” Gerard said, right as Stiles was able to pay attention again and then he was storming out, Kate on his heels and Chris close behind. Allison hesitated for a moment, looking torn but then her father called her name from where he was standing in the door way and she followed.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said as soon as the door swung shut. He looked pale and shaky. “I didn’t mean to- that’s not how I planned that.”

            “Dude, don’t be sorry! This is awesome! Unless…” the grin that had blossomed on Scott’s face dimmed. “Wait, did you not actually _want_ to join our pack?”

            “No!” Derek said quickly. “I mean, yes, yes I did but-” Derek cast an agonized look over to Stiles. “Not until I… checked.”

            Half of Stiles wanted to launch himself into Derek’s arms and tell him that it was okay, that it was awesome, that it was the greatest thing that had ever happened.

            The other half of him wanted to push Derek out the door and send him back to his family because there was no way that Stiles was worth this.

            “You didn’t rush the decision because of Gerard though right?” Scott said, eyes huge and concerned. “Because I could have handled them.”

            “No,” It was Deaton that spoke up from the side. “No, he’d have had to made the decision before he left, isn’t that right Derek?”

            “Yeah,” Derek admitted, hunching his shoulders again. “My mom released me before we left.”

            Stiles’ brain was definitely broken.

            “Are you okay?” Deaton asked, titling his head. “You were an Omega for almost a week then. I’ve heard that can be… traumatic. Especially for werewolves who’ve never been without a pack.”

            Oh god. Derek had been an _Omega_ for a week and Stiles hadn’t even known it.

            Dimly, he recalled the conversation he had with Derek almost a year ago. About Omegas. About feeling alone. The quiet fear in Derek’s voice and the frustration as he tried to get Stiles to see that being an Omega was _bad_.

            It made sense, Stiles realized. How tense Derek had been all week, how he’d snapped awake all night and glared at the woods all day.

            “I’m fine,” Derek said. “It was- it wasn’t that bad.”

            His eyes cut to Stiles again for an instant before they fled back down to some point on the ground.

            “You sure?” Scott said. “Do you need like… medicine? Or food?”

            “No,” Derek said and Stiles watched as he looked up at Scott and seemed to relax slightly. “Nothing. I just… needed an Alpha. I think that’s why I couldn’t wait.”

            “Well, uh,” It was Scott’s turn to kind of flush. “Happy to help I guess!”

            “Did it work?” Mrs. McCall suddenly asked. “I mean… does it count if he’s a human?”

            “Yeah,” Derek said. “It worked. I can feel everyone. Just like my old pack.”

            “You can!” Scott’s eyes went wide. “Wait, can I?”

            “My mom said that you might be able to,” Derek replied, shrugging. “Maybe try?”

            “Okay,” Scott said and then he closed his eyes and went quiet and still, his mouth twisting in concentration. For a moment, nothing happened.

            Then Derek inhaled sharply, almost shuddering. Stiles took half a step forward, worried that Derek was in pain somehow before Scott’s cry interrupted him.

            “Dude!” Scott said. “I totally can! I can feel everyone!”

            “That’s it,” Derek said and his voice was a little tight. “Though you might want-”

            “Stiles, you’re right next to me,” Scott interrupted, sounding fascinated. “And Isaac, you’re there too! And-”

            Derek stiffened further and Scott’s eyes opened immediately, seeming to realize something was wrong.

            “What’s wrong?” He asked and it occurred to Stiles that Scott hadn’t seen anything. He’d known through the bond somehow. “Did I do something wrong?”

            “No,” Derek said, shaking his head. “You just focused a lot. It’s a little… intense.”

            “Shit! Sorry!” Scott said and then his eyes darted over to his mom. “I mean shoot! Sorry!”

            “It’s okay,” Derek said. Stiles didn’t necessarily believe him. But he had relaxed again and was sort of staring at Scott in awe and-

            He was right there.

            “So can everyone do it now?” Scott asked. “Stiles, can you do it?”

            And suddenly everyone had turned to Stiles and Stiles still didn’t think he was ready to talk quite yet.

            “I,” he started, swallowing to try to work moisture back into his mouth. “No. No, I don’t know-”

            It had worked. Derek was officially part of their pack now. He wondered idly if that would ever sink in.

            Luckily, no one seemed to notice his slightly breathless, stilted answer. Or at least, Scott didn’t notice. He was buzzing with the kind of joyful energy that Stiles didn’t think anyone else was capable of.

            “Well, we’ve got to show you around,” Scott told Derek. “Isaac, could you please go tell Joe and Nancy what happened. They’ll know best how to let everyone else know. Oh, and make sure to grab their bags from wherever they were stashed.”

            Isaac nodded, threw a smile at Derek and then headed out.

            “Mom and Deaton, would you mind staying here?” Scott continued, turning his puppy-dog eyes on. “I told people that I would be here to answer questions but…”

            “That’s fine,” Mrs. McCall said. She seemed to have recovered from her shock. “You boys go ahead. Nice to see you again, Derek.”

            “Thanks,” Derek said and titled his head to the side in acknowledgment, a sign of respect Stiles guessed, maybe because she was Scott’s mother and Scott was his Alpha now.

            Luckily, before the silence could stretch into something uncomfortable, something that Stiles knew he was supposed to fill, Scott had herded him and Derek out the door.

            The camp was alive and bustling and it forced Stiles to start thinking something besides _Oh, shit, what just happened?_  if only because people were looking and he needed to take note of who was looking with something darker than curiosity in their eyes.

            Scott talked loudly and continuously, pointing out landmarks and important places that they couldn’t actually see right now. But he waved his hand in the general direction of the three fields they had cleared for planting and the school and the two major bath houses they had connected to the nearby river once the camp started expanding too quickly to continue to hook up private homes. Their cabin was hooked up to the water system, but Stiles knew that was entirely due to his own discomfort with undressing in front of people.

            Stiles made a mental note to give Derek another tour at some point. Because Derek looked overwhelmed and Scott’s directions such “across the stream there” or “over that way” were not very accurate. And Derek was going to be staying here. So he had to know where everything was.

            The shock was fading into something like joy.

            They arrived at their house shortly and Stiles relaxed even further the moment he was inside. There were no people looking, just their small but comfortable common room that served as a kitchen, dining room, and lounge all in one.

            It was warm because of the wood oven in the middle of the room, but small, smaller even than Headquarters. The stove and icebox along the back wall were practically pushing against the small table that only fit four chairs and, fuck, Derek was used to living in a _house_. A house with heating and electricity and his own bathroom and couches that were actual couches rather than just benches covered with straw-stuffed cushions and-

            “So this is home!” Scott said, cutting through Stiles’ thoughts as he stripped off his jacket and threw it hooks they had by the door that were actually just nails not hammered in all the way. Stiles made another mental note that they’d have to add another nail for Derek. Which would take all of two seconds. Because it was literally just a nail. “We built it ourselves- with help, obviously. But it’s got all we need.”

            “You got a tattoo,” Derek said and Stiles turned from where he was hanging his own coat to see Derek staring in apparent confusion at the rings around Scott’s bicep.

            “Yeah!” Scott said, stretching out his arm to show it off properly. “And that’s not even the cool one!”

            With an ease that Stiles knew he would never have, Scott lifted the front of his shirt to reveal the real reason he had gone a little ink-crazy. Stiles had obviously seen it before, but it was still impressive.

            Scott’s number was… well, it wasn’t gone exactly. If you knew to look for it and squinted, you could still see the numbers stretched beneath his left collar bone. But they had been completely incorporated into an entirely different design, consisting mostly of swirls that looked like trees and roots and flowers, depending on which way you turned your head. The pattern had clearly started as a way to hide his number, but now spread across the left side of his chest and around his shoulder.

            It made Stiles happy. Because it was dangerous, yes, and marked Scott instantly as a rebel and obviously Stiles _knew_ that werewolves would find a way to mark him again if they really wanted to but-

            But it seemed permanent. Defiant. A way to say that Scott wasn’t a slave and never would be again.

            “Cool, right?” Scott said, looking down at it himself. “Most people just get a band across it – that’s what Mom and Deaton got – but it turns out Greenberg is an awesome artist so I figured I’d go more creative with it. Isaac’s looks pretty sweet too.”

            “Do-” Derek had to stop and clear his throat and for the first time since he’d joined Scott’s pack, his eyes stayed on Stiles’ face for longer than a heartbeat before flicking down to stare at Stiles’ chest. Then they were back on his face and his voice was maybe a bit hoarse. “Did you do that too?”

            “No,” Stiles said, face heating slightly. That’s right. Derek hadn’t even seen him with his shirt off. Not since drunk night. And yet he had come to Beacon Hills anyway. “Not good with needles.”

            Which of course, wasn’t the truth. Not really. Stiles _hated_ the number scrawled across his chest, hated what it symbolized and what it meant and he would probably risk passing out or vomiting if it meant he could get rid of it permanently. But Stiles knew his role in Beacon Hills, knew that someone had to be the one to sneak into towns or the few larger cities to get supplies, knew that hiding in plain sight was an important skill, knew that undercover missions required you to at least _look_ like a slave.

            Besides, he wouldn’t let Greenberg see him shirtless that up close anyway. And Scott’s doodles were notoriously awful.

            “Oh,” Derek said. And then he was back to looking at the ground once more, looking guilty.

            Even Scott had finally picked up on it.

            “Wait, you guys hadn’t…” Scott faded out, his eyes cutting between them rapidly.

            Stiles blushed though he didn’t know why. They _hadn’t_ done anything. Well, except for kiss. Three times. Soft, short kisses that he wasn’t sure even counted.

            “You didn’t know he was going to do this,” Scott realized out loud. His eyes went huge in his face.

            “I thought he was just visiting,” Stiles admitted.

            “Derek!” Scott said, sounding scandalized.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said and at least he was blushing too. “I told you I meant to check!”

            “I thought you meant with me!” Scott said. Stiles realized that he was smiling. Because Derek sounded panicked and a bit stubborn and Scott sounded horrified but entirely fond and Stiles was just realizing that he got to be with both of them.

            It seemed too good to be true.

            “I- you,” Scott said. “Uh, I’m going to my room. You two… talk.”

            The walk to his room consisted of all of two steps as Scott’s room was the first on the left but he still managed to glare at both of them.

            Then he was gone.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said again, the moment they were alone. “I meant to talk to you about it first and I wanted to tell you but- I- it just happened.”

            Derek’s uncharacteristic rambling, paired with a look of concern so great that he wasn’t even frowning did something strange to Stiles’ stomach.

            “You should’ve have done that,” he said but he was starting not to believe it. Because Derek should have. Because it meant Derek could stay here.

            “I wanted to,” Derek said simply and all Stiles could do was stare. Derek was standing there. In their cabin, face flushed and hands twitching and-

            Stiles hadn’t been surprised in years. And the rush of heat that spread pooled in his lower stomach and traveled upward along his spine wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it was… new. And Stiles knew it may not last long.

            “And I know this is- we've never talked about... and I don’t expect-” Derek was still talking.

            Stiles didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to focus on what Derek was giving up or what this meant or how this would work.

            He just wanted.

            “Derek,” he said, walking closer and bending down slightly so he could caught Derek’s eyes. “It’s okay.”

            And the crazy thing was he thought he was telling the truth.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Derek was bad with words. Always had been. He was constantly getting tongue-tied or tripping over them or just blurting out the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time and, really, he had long ago accepted that they were never going to be one of his strengths.

            But he must’ve said something right.

            Because Stiles had _blushed_ when Derek asked about whether he had gotten a tattoo and then he’d started smiling as Derek tried to defend himself. And then one moment he’d looked slightly panicked and then Derek had said three simple words – _I wanted to_ \- and suddenly Stiles was smiling up at him.

            Derek was positive he had never seen Stiles smile quite like that before. Derek realized he would be quite content to stare at it forever.

            “My room,” Stiles said suddenly, turning too quickly for Derek to follow.

            Derek stayed where he was. He still felt slightly stunned. He had been ready to try to explain the situation, to assure Stiles that they didn’t _have_ to be together. Not if Stiles didn’t want to.

            He didn’t know what Stiles wanted.

            Stiles must’ve sensed his hesitation because he was rolling his eyes, grinning.

            “C’mon, Derek,” Stiles said. “You just joined Scott’s pack apparently. You’re allowed in my room.”

            Then Stiles was smirking at him but it was lighter and confident and Derek couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. He went to follow Stiles, taking the three steps to his room in record time and then-

            _Slammed_ into some barrier he hadn’t even seen.

            “Shit! Sorry!” Stiles was saying as Derek blinked back stars.

            “What?” he mumbled, holding his head. “What _was_ that?” He frowned in the direction of Stiles’ doorway. He still didn’t see anything. Maybe he’d hit his head on the doorframe?

            “Fuck, sorry- it’s mountain ash,” Stiles explained, waving his hands in Derek’s general direction. “It keeps werewolves out. I lined my room with it months ago and completely forgot- here.”

            He bent down and casually lifted the plank of wood working as a door jam, revealing a line of dark, gray powder.

            Derek watched as Stiles hesitated for a moment, the fingers in his right had twitching and Derek opened his mouth to tell Stiles not to do it. He knew Stiles. He knew how much that would protect him. What it would mean. But then Stiles took a breath and ran his finger across the line confidently, breaking it in one smooth motion.

            “Stiles, you don’t-” Derek started anyway. He didn’t want this to be moving too fast.

            “I want to,” Stiles said firmly and Derek dimly wondered if that was to become the slogan of their relationship. “Do you?”

            That wasn’t even a question. So he didn’t answer.

            Just stepped across the doorway into Stiles’ room and just barely stopped himself from launching himself at Stiles.

            Of course, his hesitation didn’t matter because Stiles had reached up and yanked him further into the room and directly into a kiss.

            It wasn’t like their previous kisses. It was open-mouthed and desperate and Stiles’ arms were already winding around his shoulders, pulling him closer and Derek was frozen for all of one second before he was pouring everything he had into the kiss.

            He was bad with words and he just wanted Stiles to _know_ everything. He wanted Stiles to know that Derek thought he was the best person Derek knew, the bravest and the strongest. He wanted Stiles to know that he was worth it, worth everything, worth anything. He wanted Stiles to know that Derek’s heart flipped in his chest whenever Stiles smiled at him, that his hands tingled whenever they were allowed to touch Stiles, that his whole body fucking melted whenever Stiles laughed.

            He wanted Stiles to know he was grateful. So grateful that Stiles had let him join his pack and trusted him enough to let him do this and _liked_ him enough to kiss him back.

            Stiles’ hands were tangled in his hair and Derek had curled his arms around Stiles’ back because he couldn’t help it. He wanted Stiles to be closer, and though a vague part of him realized that he was practically clutching Stiles, Stiles’ didn’t seem to mind, hadn’t tensed away from him. For a moment, something else pricked at Derek’s awareness, something else he had to do but then there was a new scent in the air, that Derek couldn’t place at first before it hit him-

            _Arousal_.

            He couldn’t stop the noise that rose from the back of his throat at the revelation. Stiles pulled back, but only far enough to look into Derek’s eyes.

            “I can’t believe you came here,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

            “I wanted to,” Derek repeated. “I… you- I had to.”

            Stiles was staring at him, smelling like wonder and gratitude and arousal and Derek couldn’t stand it for another second.

            He lunged forward to capture Stiles’ lips once more and Stiles took a step back with the force of it and suddenly he’d gone… not stiff- but still. Forcibly loose in a way that meant he was ready for something. For an attack.

            Derek pulled away immediately.

            Fuck, he was an idiot. He’d gotten carried away. He may have even used werewolf strength without realizing it.

            “Sorry,” he said, stepping away. It couldn’t happen again. It _wouldn’t_. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-” _get too excited, push you back like that, force myself on you._

            They stayed like that for a moment and then Derek glanced towards the door, wondering if he should leave. He heard rather than saw Stiles take a deep breath.

            “Derek,” Stiles said, stepping towards him. He was still smiling slightly even though the arousal was gone from his scent. “You gotta stop doing that.”

            “Doing what?” Derek asked, frowning.

            “Stop moving away whenever you think I’m… hurt or whatever,” Stiles said and his smell had shifted to one of frustration.

            “But,” Derek said. “You don’t-” He stopped. “I’m not pressuring you.”

            He had to make sure Stiles knew that.

            Stiles had moved back into his space again, and Derek couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over Stiles’ face.

            “I know you’re not,” Stiles said. “And… thank you for that. But sometimes I want to do things.”

            “Yeah,” Derek said. “Until you don’t. I can tell. So that’s when I stop.”

            “No,” Stiles said, blowing out a breath and dragging one hand down his face. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

            Derek didn’t say anything, merely blinked in confusion.

            “Look, I know that sometimes I… tense up or maybe… smell weird,” Stiles said. “But I think that’s something we’re just gonna have to power through.”

            “We _don’t_ have to power through anything,” Derek said firmly. That’s exactly what he was trying to say. They could stop whenever Stiles felt even slightly uncomfortable and that was _okay_. That was more than okay.

            “But _I_ want to!” Stiles said, and his voice rose for a moment before he cut himself off, glancing at the wall he shared with Scott. “I want certain things. With you. And-”

            Stiles stopped himself but then he was squaring his jaw and meeting Derek’s gaze head on.

            “I get to decide,” he said firmly. “That’s what you want, right? My decision. So you don’t get to decide for me when I want to stop. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you. Verbally.”

            Derek shifted. When Stiles said it, it sounded obvious. And he was right. It was Stiles’ body and he should be in charge of it. He just…

            “You’ll tell me, though, right?” He said, hating this. He hated that this was a conversation they had to have, that Stiles had to _worry_ about things like this, that a part of him was still terrified that he’d pressured Stiles into this somehow.

            “Yes,” Stiles said and he must’ve known that for the agreement it was because the frustration faded from his scent, leaving only determination in its wake.

            “No matter what,” Derek said. “You have to talk to me. If you don’t like anything or-”

            “I will,” Stiles promised and his hands trailed up Derek’s arms to curl around his shoulders. “And you can tell me too. If there’s anything you don’t want to do.”

            Derek nodded, although he thought that was highly unlikely. He couldn’t imagine not wanting to do anything with Stiles.

            “But, Derek,” Stiles said, catching his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “It still might be… slow. Okay? I’m not saying it won’t be because it probably will be and I’m sor-”

            Derek cut him off with a kiss because Stiles’ voice had gotten softer and his scent had gone embarrassed and Derek couldn’t take it a moment longer.

            “One condition,” Derek said, pulling away after a long moment. “I have one condition.”

            Stiles was out of breath, panting against him, tensing slightly.

            “Wh-what?” Stiles asked.

            “You don’t say sorry,” Derek replied. “Not about this. Not ever.”

            He hated it. He hated the shame and embarrassment and _guilt_ that accompanied that word, like it was Stiles’ fault that he couldn’t just jump into things or like he should be sorry if he told Derek to stop. And Derek knew that maybe Stiles couldn’t just turn off those feelings but he didn’t want to hear him say it, couldn’t explain the pure hopelessness and rage that coursed through him whenever Stiles’ apologized for things that were never and would never be his fault.

            “Oh,” Stiles said and it was a shy smile that spread across his face. “Okay.”

            There was another beat of silence, where Derek saw Stiles take a breath and glance up at him again and Derek couldn’t have said what was going through his mind. Stiles smelled like too many different emotions to comprehend. Derek didn’t blame him. It was a lot to take in, a lot had happened.

            _We should probably stop,_ Derek thought dimly. _Maybe grab some food._ Probably stop and talk about what it meant that Derek had joined Scott’s pack. Or maybe Derek had to make it clear that while he did join for Stiles, he didn’t _need_ anything from Stiles and that they shouldn’t-

            But then he saw Stiles take a deep breath and maybe push some issues down that they should still be talking about but he knew instinctively that Stiles was done for the moment and pressuring Stiles to talk about things would be just as invasive as anything physical and the next moment, Stiles was smirking up at him, raising both eyebrows into a challenge and-

            And then Derek couldn’t have said who leaned in this time but they were kissing again, softly at first as Derek tried to memorize the lines of Stiles’ smile and then fiercely because in Derek’s mind it had still be _nine months_ and there were years before that and Stiles was finally, finally _pack_ and-

            _Stiles was pack_. _He was Scott’s Second._

            Derek almost flinched as the realization hit him and a part of his brain that had been turned off since the moment Stiles had yanked him into his room and shut the door switched back on.

            “Wait,” he said, leaning back right as Stiles sank onto his bed.

            There was a bed. Derek hadn’t even noticed it before. But it was pressed into the corner of his room, not quite as big as Derek’s had been but plenty big enough for two people and Derek’s brain short circuited for a moment because Stiles was kneeling up on it, looking at him in confusion and Derek couldn’t help but notice that his lips were swollen and his hair was mused and holy shit-

            “Derek, seriously,” Stiles growled. “We’re not doing anything major right now. I just figured we could at least sit down. Stop freaking ou-”

            “No!” Derek said. “No, it’s not that. It’ just we- uh… weneedtoaskScott.”

            “What?” Stiles asked, clearly having heard none of the last part of Derek’s statement.

            Derek flushed. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was another werewolf custom that Stiles was not aware of but-

            He couldn’t help it. He had just joined the pack and Stiles was the _Second_ and all his instincts not currently wrapped up in Stiles were screaming that he had to get the Alpha’s permission.

            And now that he’d realized it, now that he had verbalized that tiny nagging presence in the back of his mind-

            “We need to ask Scott,” Derek said, willing himself to speak clearly. “For permission. To… date?”

            He made it a question. Both because he didn’t really know what to call what he and Stiles were doing, also because that wasn’t technically true. You didn’t need Alpha permission to date. You needed Alpha permission to _mate_ or marry and that’s not what Derek was suggesting they do right now- not at _all_ – but it was still- they should still… check.

            At least that’s what the pressure in his head told him.

            It also might have been impacted by the fact that Derek was positive that Stiles _was_ his mate already and they’d never talked about it but Derek couldn’t imagine it being another way. He’d already left his pack. He’d already joined Stiles’. He wouldn’t tell Stiles but in the eyes of other werewolves… he’d already made his choice. The Alpha had to approve.

            “That is not how human packs work,” Stiles told him, sounding horrified.

            “I know,” Derek said, burning with embarrassment. He wanted to just forget about it but Scott’s authority was still fresh and new and Derek couldn’t ignore it. “I know but-”

            How could Stiles not feel it? How could he just be completely unaware of it all?

            “Scott!” Stiles suddenly hollered, grabbing a shoe from by his bed and chucking it at the far wall. “Scott!”

            “What?” Scott’s voice was muffled but clear. He didn’t sound surprised. Derek wondered how often the two talked like this.

            “Derek and I are gonna make out,” Stiles said.

            “What the- Seriously, Stiles!” Scott said. “I didn’t need that information!”

            “He says we need your permission since you’re the Alpha!”

            There was what Derek guessed to be a horrified silence from Scott’s end. Then,

            “Oh god!” Scott said, sounding scandalized. “Tell him that’s not how human packs work!”

            “I tired! He won’t listen!”

            Derek was quite positive he had never been more red in his entire life. This wasn’t exactly how he pictured this going. In werewolf packs it was a formal meeting, with both sides clearly stating their intentions to each Alpha. In a situation like this, where both werewolves were already part of the pack for whatever reason, often the whole pack would be in attendance, though usually it was just a formality.

            “Scott!” Stiles yelled again when the silence dragged. “We need your alpha-blessing!”

            “Fine!” Scott replied. “Fine, you have my… permission or whatever.”

            “Great! Thanks!” Stiles turned to grin at Derek. “Did that count?”

            Derek just stared. Because oddly enough, it _had_ counted. The pressure in his head had faded almost instantly. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still reeling in shock.

            Then he saw Stiles open his mouth, doubtless to tell Scott they needed more enthusiastic permission and he couldn’t let that happen so he moved forward.

            “It worked,” he said, leaning down so he could kiss Stiles.

            “Awesome,” Stiles breathed and then he was pulling Derek forward and onto the bed.

            “I don’t have to do that every time, do I?” Derek heard dimly through the wall.

            Stiles was laughing too hard to answer and Derek couldn’t be bothered.

            Human packs were certainly different.

**End Part III**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: References to past torture, sexual abuse - nothing described in detail. (It's not a specific scene, it's more just Stiles' POV throughout can be a little dark); Issues of consent are discussed
> 
> As always, I would love to hear what you think about everything (especially as this chapter underwent a huge re-write and quite a lot of editing)! Let me know here or on  tumblr!
> 
> Next chapter is done and thankfully does NOT need a re-write so it should be up on Wednesday!
> 
> Mass love to all!


	4. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next chapter! Thank you to everyone who has left comments/kudos!
> 
> No specific trigger warnings for this one! (Though as always, Stiles' POV includes references to past abuse and can be a bit dark- generally, it's a happy chapter!)

**Part IV**

 

            Stiles woke up early the next morning, as he always did, and for a moment he panicked at the presence of another person in his bed.

            But then he remembered that the person was Derek, and he was tucked as tightly as he could into the corner of the bed by the wall so that Stiles had the maximum amount of space and that he was facing the wall with his arms wrapped in his own blanket so there was no chance that he would grab Stiles during the night. And that it had taken over twenty minutes for Stiles to convince him not to sleep on the floor.

            Stiles felt the urge to wake him up and just make sure all this was real but it was early and he figured he should let the werewolf sleep. So instead, he rolled out of bed softly and eased his way out of the room.

            He threw some logs in the fire, idly reminding himself to fill the small pile they kept indoors so no one had to go outside first thing in the morning once everyone else was awake and then headed to the washroom. A splash of cold water would wake him up. And he had a lot to do.

            They hadn’t gotten anything done yesterday. He and Derek had made out for a while and then even when they had to stop, when Stiles admitted that his panic was getting worse, not better, they’d stayed holed up in Stiles’ room, talking and laughing about nothing serious. Well, nothing too serious. At least, he’d tried to avoid it.

            He couldn’t worry about things right now. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that Derek had _left his pack_ to be with him. A conversation from long ago told him that that was serious, that it was done in marriage ceremonies and he wasn’t _panicking_ about that but… if he thought about it too hard he might start panicking. Or maybe panic at how little that idea bothered him. And it should bother him. At least, he thought it should.

            Regardless, it was best to avoid it. So he had. Except for once.

            _“Dude,” Stiles said, frowning as his eyes caught on Derek’s neck. There was still a cut there- the long, shallow, thin wound that Scott had sliced open almost an_ hour _ago. It hadn’t healed. He reached out to touch it but then snatched his hand back. Werewolves were weird about necks. He knew that better than anyone. “You’re still hurt. What’s wrong? Why isn’t it healing?”_

_Immediately his thoughts drifted to poison- more specifically, to letting_ Kate fucking Argent _tie Derek up with rope coated in_ who-knows-what _and-_

_Derek was smiling at him. Stiles frowned deeper. Derek could be dying. This was no time for smiling._

_“Stiles,” Derek said, calmly. “It’s a wound from the Alpha. It’s not going to heal.”_

_“Not going to?” Stiles repeated._

_“Well, it will eventually,” Derek replied. “Just at… normal human speed I guess.”_

_“Why?” Stiles asked. He guessed it made sense that he hadn’t known that particular bit of werewolf information because how often did Alphas really hurt their own pack members? But, it still seemed like a strange bylaw to the werewolf species._

_“I dunno,” Derek admitted. “It must be part of the… magic or whatever that makes pack work. Probably a leftover from when Alphas were challenged a lot more for their power.”_

_“Huh,” Stiles said. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about werewolf history. Most of his life was spent worrying about werewolves in the present- he didn’t have time to examine the past. Any knowledge he did have, he’d gained from Derek or his brief readings in the library. He could probably ask Lydia about it too. She might know more. She seemed to know everything._

_“Stiles,” Derek said and Stiles realized he must’ve still been frowning because Derek was sliding closer, clearly broadcasting his intention to go in for a kiss. “It’s a good thing. It means it worked.”_

_“Right,” Stiles said. “Scott’s your Alpha now. He can officially beat you up if he wants to.” He’d meant it to come out casual and flippant but his throat had sort of closed and so it came out a bit breathless._

_Oh god, what had Derek been thinking? He wasn’t worth this, he couldn’t-_

_“Exactly,” Derek interrupted his thoughts and then he was kissing Stiles again, in that achingly soft way that Stiles couldn’t tell if he hated or loved._

_He meant to pull away, to shake his head and again remind Derek that he should_ not _have done this but Derek was still kissing him and a now-familiar heat was flooding his chest and when he reached his hand up to swipe gently against the cut, Derek stilled for a moment and then whimpered in a good way and-_

            Eventually, Scott had called them for dinner and Stiles felt guilty but he was relieved when Scott said that it was just going to be them and Isaac, that they’d introduce Derek around later. So the four of them had sat around the table, eating Scott’s poor excuse for chicken soup that tasted mostly like water and even that hadn’t seemed so bad. Again, the conversation had stayed light but it didn’t feel like avoidance.

            It felt like acceptance. Scott and Isaac clearly knew why Derek had decided to leave his pack and they didn’t feel the need to bring too much attention to it. Instead, they’d talked about life at Beacon Hills and Derek had delivered Cora’s letter to Isaac, which had hilariously included a guide of “Things to do with a Grumpy Derek” as well as a list of his greatest fears for Isaac to use to his advantage. They’d laughed and then Isaac had pulled out a deck of cards and casually mentioned that they might as well play for the last of the chocolates. So they’d done that.

            At one point, even Derek had noted that no one had come to talk to Scott about his arrival, one eyebrow raising in concern. Scott had frowned a little before shrugging, looking pleased. Doubtless, he assumed that this was because there were no complaints about Derek’s presence. Stiles decided not to tell either of them the truth, which was that there was an unwritten rule not to bother the boys when they were at their cottage except in cases of emergency. Stiles wasn’t the one who had started that unspoken tradition – he suspected Mrs. McCall, with the aid of Joe and Nancy – but at times he was grateful. Before it was instituted, however unofficially, he and Scott had been all but bombarded with requests at every hour of the day or night. Usually, at least one of them was at Headquarters anyway but the added security came in useful.

            Especially on nights like last night, when they could just relax for a while, when they could pretend that they were just normal people, that there weren’t werewolves out there who would love to find them, catch them, and most likely torture them into submission, that they didn’t have to be the ones to deal with the politics of running a camp of over three hundred people.

            Plus, maybe Scott’s optimism was right this time. Most of the people in Beacon Hills came from packs in the alliance, had been released by their werewolf masters rather than escaped and even the ones who had run away themselves were obviously aware of that so… so maybe everyone was fine with Derek. Maybe Scott was right. Although Stiles didn’t believe it.

            It didn’t matter. Scott would obviously talk to anyone who came to him openly, but Stiles knew how people worked. Most would whisper and plot behind closed doors and so Stiles would handle it. It was his responsibility.

            Finally they’d realized that it was late and had gone to sleep. Well, first they’d had a twenty minutes debate about whether or not Derek was allowed to sleep on the bed and then they’d kissed (which coincidentally had been one of Stiles’ main arguments) for another twenty minutes and then they’d talked and _then_ they’d gone to bed.

            It was practically a perfect night. But now Stiles still felt a little exhausted and he’d have to deal with other people today and a million things and-

            He realized abruptly that he was looking scanning his chest for evidence of what he and Derek had done. He was moving cautiously, flicking his eyes across his body and expecting them to snag on bruises or hickeys and that was absolutely ridiculous.

            There was no way that Derek had left a mark on him. Derek had only kissed his mouth and gently along his jaw, freezing when Stiles told him to wait as it became clear he wanted to move down Stiles’ neck. He’d stopped immediately, gazing intently at Stiles for a moment because he’d said _wait_ , not _stop_ and then Derek must’ve seen something because he rolled onto his back, pulling Stiles on top of him and-

            That was new. Being on top and in control of which areas Derek could reach and Stiles had relaxed as soon as his brain reached that revelation. It hadn’t last too long because soon it was obvious that Derek was aroused and even though Stiles was just as hard, his brain had practically had a seizure and he’d had to gasp at Derek to stop as he climbed off him and had almost broken his promise and apologized. Expect Derek was already talking about something else, casually sliding away so that they weren’t touching anymore, eyes concerned but not alarmed, utterly calm in the face of whatever panic may hit.

            He hadn’t asked if Stiles was okay. Hadn’t asked any questions at all. So before they’d gone to sleep, Stiles had tried that position again and had managed to hold onto the fact that there were no expectations and had rolled off only when he realized he was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

            So he knew there would be no hickeys or bite marks. Even Derek’s hands on his waist had merely rested there, neither pushing or pulling or directing his motion at all so there wouldn’t  be any bruises there either.

            It just felt like there should be. Stiles felt fundamentally _different_ than he had before and it sort of blew his mind that there was no physical evidence. That most people wouldn’t even _know_ what had happened. Stiles wouldn’t even have to try to hide it. From anyone.

            He pulled back on his shirt feeling both pleased and slightly unsettled for some reason and headed back out into the common room. Scott was already up, sitting on a chair, blinking blearily as he bit into an apple. Then he caught sight of Stiles and seemed to wake up instantly.

            “So,” he said, grinning. “You and Derek.”

            Christ, he was even wagging his eyebrows, looking so thoroughly happy with the situation that Stiles couldn’t help the blush that rose to his face.

            “Ugh, c’mon, Scott,” Stiles said, grabbing an apple himself. They had more of them than anyone knew what to do with. “Don’t do this.”

            “Do what?” Scott said, not even bothering to put on his pretend innocent face. “Talk about how he left his pack just to be with you and you guys are so in loooooove.”

            “We are not,” Stiles said because they hadn’t even begun to talk about all that. He couldn’t handle that at the moment and Scott knew it.

            But Scott had also had to put up with Stiles and Isaac teasing him nonstop about Allison for almost four months and Stiles realized with a jolt that this was what Scott was doing. Teasing him about Derek. As if their relationship was normal. As if _he_ was normal.

            “Sure, man,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “I totally believe you.”

            Stiles had to stop blushing. He just had to.

            “So,” Scott continued. “Are you gonna give me the details?”

            “What?” Stiles yelped. “Dude!”

            “I’m your best friend. No, I’m the Alpha!” Scott said, attempting to sound authoritative. “I demand details!”

            “Do you really want details?” Stiles asked, raising one eyebrow. Predictably Scott blanched. Not that there really were any- but Scott didn’t know that. “I mean, we already had to ask permission to make out, maybe you can just tell from what _else_ we ask permission for…”

            “No!” Scott said, shaking his head. “No, Stiles! I already asked Derek and he said it was a one time thing! And besides, I didn’t mean _those_ details. Don’t be gross.”

            Stiles laughed again, stifling it only so he didn’t wake Isaac or Derek up.

            “Then what details did you mean?” He asked, taking another bite of his apple.

            “The _nice_ details,” Scott said. “Like who kissed who first? Where was the first kiss? What did he look like when he realized it was you?”

            “Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. “You are such a loser.”

            “You know all those things about me and Allison,” Scott said, face falling into a pout.

            “That’s ‘cause you’re a romantic! You tell everybody!”

            “Still,” Scott was frowning now. “I’m your best friend. I should know these things.”

            Stiles couldn’t help but shake his head, stunned by how absolutely surreal this was. He and Derek were together and Scott knew about it and Scott wanted to hear about it. And Stiles knew he was about to break and tell Scott everything. Because he’d never worked up a resistance to the puppy eyes Scott was sending his way. Never really wanted to either.

            “Alright, alright,” Stiles said and Scott made a show of settling himself. “Uh, so we were in the woods- a few days ago, I guess- and I… well, I tripped.”

            “Over what?”

            “I don’t know- a tree branch or something,” Stiles said. “That’s not an important part.”

            “Okay, okay, just checking. It was in the morning?”

            “Well, more around lunch time. Anyway, I hurt my ankle-”

            “You hurt your ankle,” Scott was suddenly sitting straighter. “How badly? Do you need to see Mom?”

            “No!” Stiles replied. “Stop that! I’m fine. I’m trying to tell a story here!”

            “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

            “Anyway, my ankle was twisted so I sat down- on a fallen tree, Scott- and then Derek took the pain out of it and then he- well, I mean, I just kissed him, I guess.”

            “And did he kiss you back?” Scott asked, practically squirming with excitement.

            “Uh… yeah,” Stiles said, flushing. “Except then I realized I hadn’t actually, you know, _asked_ him if I could kiss him so I tried to stop but then…”

            Stiles struggled. This might actually be worse than living through it.

            “Then he totally did want to kiss you and so you kissed more!” Scott finished for him.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said, relieved that Scott had finished it before he died of embarrassment. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

            “That’s awesome,” Scott said and his face looked almost exactly like it did when he talked about Allison. “What a great story.”

            Stiles nodded. He supposed when told like that, without all the freaking out and the tensing up and the nameless terror in his head, it did sound like a rather sweet story.

            He even almost liked it.

            “So,” he coughed, clearing his head. “How is Allison?”

            He hadn’t missed that she hadn’t come over last night and he didn’t think that Scott had gone out to find her either.

            “I don’t know,” Scott said, a quick frown crossing his features. “I haven’t had the chance to talk to her.”

            Stiles knew that wasn’t true. Scott had chosen not to go see her. He’d chosen to stay with Stiles and Derek all through the afternoon (even though they were alone in their room for a good chunk of time) and then hadn’t invited her to dinner and had continued hanging out with them after dinner.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “About… Derek and all this.” He was sorry. He knew this was going to create tension on their relationship, that Allison couldn’t just forget that a werewolf had killed her mother years ago, that Scott had never even had the chance to meet her. He was sorry for his part in causing Derek to come and live here, in their _house_ , a space which until yesterday had been Scott and Allison’s primary hideaway.

            “Dude, don’t be,” Scott said firmly. “She’ll come around.”

            “How do you know?” Stiles asked, softly. He wanted it to be true. He wanted it to be that Scott could be with Allison and Stiles could be with  Derek and they could all be happy. He didn’t want Scott to have to choose between Stiles and Allison. Not again.

            “Because we’re right,” Scott said simply. “Probably not about everything, but about this... yeah, she'll come around.”

            It was hard to argue with Scott when he sounded like that, all simple confidence and certainty.

            “Right,” Stiles echoed and it was funny because so many people seemed to think that Stiles was the smart one and even Scott readily agreed to that, but it simply wasn't true.

            “Yup,” Scott said, nodding casually as he stood and stretched. “Humans and werewolves are equal.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles replied, glancing down to hide a blush that had risen to her face for some unknown reason. “I remember you told me something like that once.”

            “See, convinced you,” Scott said, and on anyone else’s face his expression would have seemed smug. On Scott’s it just looked honestly happy. “She’ll figure it out eventually too. All the Argents will.”

            Stiles fought the frown off his face. He wasn’t sure that was true at all. For Allison, yes but for the others…

            “Alright,” Scott said, popping the last of the apple into his mouth. As usual, he’d eaten all of it, including the core. It was an old habit from a time when the core was all they could grab. Stiles knew because he did the same. “I’ve gotta head out. Deaton wanted me to check on a few things and Isaac said frozen ground is starting to affect some of the building projects. Be best to see them now before everyone’s awake.”

            “Okay,” Stiles replied. “Let me just grab my shoes.”

            “Are you sure?” Scott said. “I know Derek just got here.”

            “Dude, we’ve been walking around alone for a week. I can help,” Stiles _wanted_ to help and he knew from the relief that crossed Scott’s face that Scott needed him. He hadn’t missed the extra stacks of papers on the table in Headquarters yesterday or the fact that while Scott had stayed at the cottage yesterday, clearly wanting to be on hand, Isaac had ran around all day, coming in to Scott’s room and checking in before heading back out. It was a busy time. There simply wasn’t time for another day off.

            “Awesome,” Scott said. “We’ll probably end up at Headquarters so I’ll have Isaac tell Derek to meet us there whenever he wakes up.”

            “He could probably find us with your new pack magic too,” Stiles called over his shoulder as he opened the door. As he bent down to grab his shoes, a glance told him that Derek was still asleep, having rolled over but not woken up. Fair enough, it was barely after sunrise.

            “That is pretty cool,” Scott said as he pulled on a jacket. “We need more information on how that works.”

            “You’ll have to ask Derek,” Stiles said, layering up as well.

            “Add it to the List,” Scott said with a smile. Stiles rolled his eyes. Last he’d checked the List was almost fifty items long. And that was a week ago. Different drafts of it were pinned up all over Headquarters. Lydia flat out refused to have any copies of it in the library as it was inherently disorganized.

            The two exited the cottage side by side. As usual, Isaac slept in later, especially now that Mrs. McCall declared him in the middle of what she hoped was his last growth spurt. This was honestly one of Stiles’ favorite parts of the day. The rest of Beacon Hills was generally still asleep and he and Scott were free to check on things without interruption or attempted explanation from others. The rule to leave them alone when they were at home seemed to extend to their early morning walks.

            “Where to first?” Stiles asked. “Deaton or building sites?”

            “Let’s swing by the animal fields first, actually,” Scott said, angling them in the right direction. “Two cows have died- apparently not of old age- and Mom won’t let anyone eat the meat for fear it’s unhealthy so we’ve got to make sure that doesn’t spread. Or at least see what’s wrong.”

            “Gotcha,” Stiles said, smiling. Scott’s dream of living a simple life and healing animals would probably never happen but, well, they got close sometimes. “Oh, and I gotta drop by Danny’s at some point. I snagged more batteries for him from the Hales.”

            “Do the Hales _know_ you took them?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

            Stiles tried to look innocent. “Well, I’m sure they do _now_ ,” Stiles tried. Cora might have even thought it was some kind of prank. And it sort of was.

            “Stiles!” Scott groaned, but he was smiling.

            “I stole some of those cookies that you like so much too,” Stiles said. “Risked Jenny’s wrath and everything.”

            Scott’s laugh was loud and excited and Stiles realized that it really was good to be home.

 

*^*^*^

 

            When Derek woke up the first thing he did was check on the pack. A part of him still expected to feel the steady strength of his mother, calmness of his father, and the twin peaks of brightness that his sisters created. He just assumed that Peter would be up and already amused by something or other and Christine would be there, quietly sighing or smiling back.

            But instead, he was immediately hit with Scott’s frankly impossible heat that oscillated between emotions more quickly than Derek could keep track of. For a moment, the sense of _Alpha_ was overwhelming and even then he only focused enough to make sure that everyone was safe before taking a breath and focusing on his other senses.

            The bed smelled like him and Stiles. That was the fact that hit him next and for a moment he was glad that Stiles wasn’t there because it meant that Derek could grab his pillow and inhale without thinking. It smelled like _pack_ and maybe _mate_ and Derek had never smelled anything so wonderful in his life.

            It was as he was stretching that he finally, finally realized how _late_ it was. He blinked. It was well after sunrise. He didn’t remember the last time he’d woken up so late. Immediately after Stiles left, nine months ago, he’d slept in for a few weeks but then he’d been forcing himself to get up and run and he and Stiles had been up with the sun to start hiking for the past week.

            It made no sense that he had slept so much. But it felt like he needed it. In fact, although it must be close to nine, Derek felt like he could roll over and go back to sleep. His body felt oddly sore.

            Maybe it was just the strain of being an Omega finally catching up with him. Or maybe a side effect of joining a new pack. It wasn’t that he felt weak still, in fact he felt strong again, like his muscles had re-aligned. But it would make sense if that was why his body ached. Maybe. For a moment, he wished there was someone to ask. His mother had never joined a pack before- she probably hadn’t even known to warn him.

            But he couldn’t just sit around all day. He forced himself to roll out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

            It was only as he pulled on a clean shirt as he left the bathroom, ready to go, that he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

            The house was empty. Derek had known that the moment he had woken up. He knew roughly where Headquarters was but he didn’t even know if Scott and Stiles would be there or if _he_ was welcome there. It might be that Scott was talking to people about his arrival and wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. And Stiles had talked broadly about how busy life was at Beacon Hills, but in his usual fashion, he hadn’t gone into too many details so Derek wasn’t exactly sure what it was Stiles did. Or how on earth he could help.

            For a moment he was utterly and completely stumped, stumped and almost a bit panicked. Then he took a breath and told himself that he wasn’t useless. There was plenty he could do around the cabin.

            He started in Stiles’ room. He made the bed and picked up a bit and then, after a brief debate over whether or not Stiles would mind, set to unpacking the bags from their hike. There was a small set of drawers next to the door of the room that were fairly empty. But Derek remembered how Stiles had set up his clothes when he did this for Derek and put things back according to his best guess. Stiles had clearly begged Jenny for certain food items, which Derek placed on a small shelf above the table. The only thing he really didn’t know what to do with was the pile of batteries Stiles must have asked for from Jenny or Harris.

            He didn’t know what to do with his clothes either. For now, he just left them in his backpack. He could ask Stiles later.

            He glanced at the small desk Stiles had in the corner of his room before deciding that attempting to organize the pile of papers that covered it would probably do more harm than good.

            He had just finished straightening the common area and was worrying about his next move when the door opened, letting a blast of cool air in. He knew before turning that it was Isaac.

            “Derek!” Isaac said by way of greeting. “You’re up! Sorry I missed you- had to run over to one of the coops.” He hadn’t stopped moving, squatting down to check the fire. “Found a hole in the fencing. Scott wants it closed by this afternoon to protect from foxes.”

            Isaac grabbed an apple before frowning and putting it down. “We’ve got to get something different,” he muttered to himself.

            “Anyway,” he said. “Saw Scott earlier this morning and he said you should meet them up at Headquarters. Do you remember how to get there?”

            “Yeah,” Derek said, feeling a rush of relief. “Yeah, I can do that.”

            “Awesome,” Isaac said. “Just head up whenever you’re ready. At least one of them should be there- probably Scott but he can point you in the direction of Stiles. I gotta run but you’d be doing me a favor if you finished the apples. I don’t see how Scott and Stiles aren’t sick of them.”

            “Okay,” Derek said, grabbing one. He just realized how starving he was. He walked out with Isaac, who seemed to be just as busy as he was when he was training under Harris but infinitely happier. He almost immediately peeled to the left, waving to Derek as they separated.

            Beacon Hills was already awake. The cottage seemed to be a little ways off the main pathways but as Derek walked towards Headquarters, Derek saw more and more houses and more and more people.

            Which meant more and more people saw him. While some seemed too engrossed in whatever they were doing, a good number seemed to know who he was. Or at least what he was. There were lot of stares. Most were curious, tinged with a little mistrust. Others were almost hostile.

            He found himself hunching his shoulders. He’d never liked interacting with other people even when they weren’t frowning at him. Laura would probably be glaring right back right now, eyes flashing the trademark reddish gold of a future Alpha. Cora would already be talking to someone, all smiles and playful smirks and really, she would be so much better at joining an entirely new community of people.

            “Derek!” The shout surprised him and at first he assumed that the woman who called must be talking to someone else. Then it came again. “Derek Hale!”

            He stopped, pulling his head up from the ground and turned.

            From her doorway, the tiniest woman Derek had ever seen was waving at him. In his head, Jenny was quite short, but this woman made Jenny seem almost tall. She was older than Jenny as well, hair completely white, cut short and standing in wisps on the top of her head.

            “Uh, yes?” He made it a question, uncertain who this woman was or what she wanted.

            “You’re here!” She took a few steps toward him but then seemed content to wave him forward. Derek didn’t see any other option but to move towards her, taking just a second to glance down the path just to see if anyone else knew what was going on.

            He nodded and she seemed to accept that as a proper response.

            “How lovely!” She said and then he must’ve moved within reach because she was standing on her tip-toes to pull him into a hug that he wasn’t nearly ready for.

            “Umm…” he said, “Yes.” He wasn’t used to being hugged by strangers but for some reason he wasn’t as tense as he thought he would be. She smelled only like welcome and vaguely familiar and so he realized who she was right as she-

            “I’m Nancy,” she said, squeezing tighter for a moment before released him. “Come on in! Joe will want to meet you.”

            “Oh,” he said. “But, uh-” He was fairly certain he was supposed to be going to meet up with Scott and Stiles but he didn’t know how to tell her that. Plus her hand was still firmly latched to his arm, and she was clearly walking in. So he followed, allowing himself to be led by the pressure just above his elbow.

            The cottage was bigger than the boys’, but although it was roughly the same layout, that’s where the similarities ended. For while the boys’ cabin was comfortable, this house was a _home_. There was a tablecloth on the table and paintings on the walls and it smelled used and lived in. Derek found himself relaxing even though he still had no idea what was really going on.

            “Derek!” The booming voice came from a door in the back, deeper but just as welcoming. Joe was taller even than Derek, face splitting into a smile beneath a completely bald head.

            “Hello,” Derek replied, shifting while wondering if he was about to get a hug from Joe as well. Luckily, the man seemed satisfied with a handshake.

            “Nice to meet you,” Joe said, vigorously pumping his hand up and down. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

            “You… you have?” Derek asked, blinking.

            “Oh, of course!” Nancy said and her eyes were suspiciously damp. She looked like she was so happy she was going to burst into tears any moment. “From your father and mother and then Melissa.”

            “You talk to my parents?”

            For a moment, Joe was frowning but Nancy’s laugh chased it away.

            “Oh, yes, yes, quite a lot,” she said. “We were one of the first people to set up the community, you know. Before you were born, your father helped build this very cottage.”

            “He did?”

            Derek felt as if he had been dropped in the middle of a conversation that he wasn’t ready for. Though, as he scrambled to think over what the couple was saying, it began to make sense. His mother had said that she had started the community years ago and since she was an Alpha and an Alpha leaving her pack would be noticed, it would be practical to send her mate to help set everything up. Okay, yes, he was putting this together.

            Vaguely, he wondered if that why there was so little on his father’s previous pack. Maybe he hadn’t left under the best circumstances. Maybe the Davison pack didn’t approve of the Hale’s pro-human stance. At least, Derek hadn’t heard of the Davison pack being involved in the alliance. Although he assumed it was because they must be quite small.

            “Well, Talia helped when she could get away,” Joe said, confirming Derek’s theory with a wave of a hand. “But your father did most of it.”

            “Oh, and then Scott just wouldn’t shut up about you either!” Nancy said, steering the conversation back to its original direction. “It was all ‘Derek taught me and Stiles to read’ and ‘Derek helped when we made the alcohol’ and ‘Drunk Derek lost an arm wrestling tournament.’”

            Derek flushed. He knew that entire night was a bad idea. Luckily, as Nancy paused to finally take a breath, Joe jumped in.

            “Did you eat breakfast? We can make you breakfast. Much better than whatever Scott or Stiles managed to put together.”

            “That’s really oka-” Derek started but Nancy had finally dragged her eyes away from him long enough to turn to the kitchen. She was already grabbing a pan and bending over to throw more wood into the oven.

            “Of course,” she said. “Joe, go grab a few eggs. Isaac said Scott was going to attempt soup last night for dinner so I’m sure you’re starving, poor thing. I keep telling those boys that they do too much and should just come over here for dinner but-”

            One of her split-second frowns crossed her face once more and again, Joe re-entered just in time to jump into the silence.

            “Boys will be boys, Nance,” Joe said. It was like a well-coordinated dance, practiced and perfected after years and years of living together. “They have better things to do than hang out with old geezers like us.”

            “Well,” Nancy said, moving out of the way so that Joe could bring the eggs over and crack them into a bowl. The movement put her closer to Derek and she seemed to remember he was there. She beamed up at him.

            “You can convince him for us,” she declared, patting him gently on the cheek. “He’ll listen to you.”

            “Sure,” Derek said because sometime in the last two minutes, he had accepted that you simply didn’t disagree with Nancy. She wasn’t an Alpha- she didn’t have the inherent authority for that and she wasn’t even quietly and unassumingly competent like Jenny. It was more that she smelled so strongly of kindness and welcome that there just couldn’t be a good reason to disagree with her. “But, who will listen to me?”

            “Stiles,” Nancy said. “Never mentioned you so much himself but you two are something of an item, yes?”

            Unbidden, the image of Stiles smirking as he climbed on top of him rose to Derek’s mind. Stiles straddling his lap, settling himself down and hesitating only the briefest of instants before leaning over to kiss Derek; Stiles’ soft and pleased intake of breath when Derek risked running his hands up his sides; Stiles’ lips going soft and uncoordinated against his own until he rolled off and declared he was tired, in a voice almost entirely unapologetic.

            “I know that smile!” Joe declared and Derek abruptly realized that he hadn’t actually said anything to Nancy’s implied question. Just stood there and apparently grinned like an idiot.

            He was positive his face was going to burn off.

            “Definitely an item,” Nancy said and she sounded inordinately pleased.

            It was at that moment that Derek realized that he didn’t know if Stiles would want their… relationship or whatever becoming general knowledge. He knew how the humans at home would react but they _knew_ him and everyone here probably hated him and maybe they were supposed to be keeping this a secret, at least from people who weren’t pack.

            And Joe and Nancy were close, they were two of the points that drifted on the outskirts of his awareness but there must be some reason that they weren’t incorporated yet.

            He and Stiles had to talk about this. Stiles was the Second and his choice of mate was almost as important as Scott’s.

            “Well, not- uh,” he started, wondering what on earth he was supposed to say.

            “Don’t bother denying it, son,” Joe said, pouring the eggs in the pan. “We may be old but we pick up on things.”

            “And now you’ll certainly be able to convince him to come over more,” Nancy said. “Melissa will be so excited.”

            Yes, Melissa McCall lived here. Derek snatched onto that conversation like a lifeline.

            “Where is Mrs. McCall?” he asked, glancing around.

            “Oh, out and about, I’m sure,” Nancy said. “Either down at the medical center or over with Alan. Here, sit!”

            It took Derek a moment to remember that Alan was Deaton and by then he was already sitting somehow. Then there was a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him and he was taking a bite, Nancy staring as if he was making her day just by eating their food.

            If asked, Derek couldn’t have quite said how two hours managed to go by so fast. The eggs were followed with homemade scones, which had Joe telling him that he chose a great time to come because blueberry season was almost over. Derek didn’t disagree. They were delicious. Then Derek tried to at least help with the dishes, which he had gotten quite proficient at since his clumsy attempts to have an excuse to stay with Stiles. But he was waved away by Nancy. Luckily, just as he was starting to feel truly terrible, Joe mentioned that he wouldn’t mind help chopping some firewood since he wasn’t _old_ , thank you very much, but the cold made his knees ache.

            So Derek had headed to the backyard to do that and though he insisted he was fine, both of them had followed. Nancy had grabbed knitting (she was working on a scarf for each of the boy’s, she told Derek. She would make him one too, while Joe grabbed the spare axe to sharpen it.

            The entire time, Nancy and Joe kept up a steady stream of stories and questions that half the time they ended up answering themselves. Most of the time, Derek was content to smile at the right moments, listening to both of them fill in each other’s sentences.

            He liked it. It wasn’t quite like the kitchen at home, as Jenny’s quiet presence was missing and Nancy and Joe didn’t banter like Simon and Dee, but he felt welcomed and calm anyway. Plus, when he had managed to tell a story about a time Laura had convinced him that there were bugs that would chew off his feet if he slept with his socks on, both of them had politely hung on his every word. And Derek knew it wasn’t because he was a good story teller. He wasn’t like Stiles. He didn’t have all the great descriptive words or the dramatic motions.

            But they listened and he was being useful and he unapologetically basked in how much stronger he felt, how he could feel _pack_ again whenever he wanted to.

            However, the best moment was went two young boys, probably only about seven, had barged in, begging for a scone themselves.

            Nancy had informed them that unfortunately, she had promised them to Derek. At his name, he had watched as both had frozen, eyes wide and terrified. Derek had frozen as well, unsure how to seem less threatening when he was currently holding an axe.

            He had practically tripped over himself insisting that the boys could have all the scones if they wanted and Nancy had announced that that was very generous and it was a good thing Derek was such a nice person. The boys had nodded in agreement and thanked him and the wink that Nancy sent Derek over their heads told him that she knew exactly what she had been doing.

            It made him feel hopeful about the whole thing.

            That hope must’ve been still on his face when he hesitantly knocked on the doors of Headquarters and pushed it open at Scott’s shout to come in. He knew that because he only had a moment to recognize that Scott was alone and tilt his head up in greeting before Scott was smiling at him.

            “You met Nancy and Joe,” Scott said, and it was like he was a werewolf and could smell it somehow.

            “Yeah,” Derek said, though some of the ease disappeared as he walked in the room. Not because he wasn’t comfortable around Scott, but because Scott still broadcast his emotions so strongly. Which was how Derek knew that Scott was worried and more tired than he should be and preoccupied and a little frustrated with himself.

            It was new. Derek was used to Scott being relaxed and carefree. When working in the kitchen, Scott wasn’t as distracted as Stiles could be, but he was still prone to pausing in his work to talk. This Scott was older, the pleased grin that came to his face was just as sincere but not as bright.

            But he still straightened, giving Derek his full attention.

            “They’re awesome, right?” Scott said, casually flicking his pen across the table. Derek knew from experience that when he decided to start writing again, Scott would have to spend the first few minutes looking for that pen.

            “Yeah,” Derek said. “They’re really… nice.” He wasn’t sure that word encompassed how friendly and welcoming the older couple was. It was overwhelming in all the best ways.

            “Super nice,” Scott agreed.

            “They made me breakfast too,” Derek said. “It was really good.”

            “Dude, tell me about it,” Scott said. “We’ve really got to go over there. They both are way better cooks than us. I promise we’ll take you soon.”

            “I’m supposed to convince you guys to come over for dinner every night, I think,” Derek confessed.

            Scott’s smile faltered for a moment, before he was shrugging.

            “Well, every night would be a little extreme,” Scott said but his heart had picked up an irregular pattern. Derek frowned at it. Scott wasn’t lying exactly but he may not be telling the whole truth. “But we go there a good amount.”

            Scott was clearly unwilling to talk too much more about the subject. And Scott was the Alpha, so Derek certainly wasn’t going to press. Especially not on a subject such as where to eat dinner.

            “Where is Stiles?” Derek asked. Even when he focused on the pack bond, Stiles was hard to pin down. He was too contained, almost the polar opposite of Scott whose emotions could practically be sensed from across the camp if Derek put his mind to it.

            “Oh, he’s around,” Scott replied. “I know he was going to talk to Deaton and Danny, though my mom wanted to see him at some point so… I don’t know at the moment, to be honest.” Scott frowned.

            “I could send someone to find him,” he said, grinning again. “So you two could hang out.”

            Derek flushed. “Uh, no, that’s okay,” he said. “I can go find him myself.”

            Scott’s scent immediately went embarrassed.

            “Uh, actually,” Scott shifted uncomfortably before taking a breath and meeting Derek’s eyes. “That might not be the best idea right now.”

            Oh. Right. He was a werewolf. A werewolf living in a village of ex-slave humans.

            “Look,” Scott said, taking a few steps closer so he could rest his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to calm down in a few days. I mean, people aren’t even that upset. They’re just a bit nervous about it so… so I think we just have to make sure you’re with someone. Just at first.”

            “Yeah,” Derek said, nodding. “That makes sense.”

            “We just gotta make sure you’re safe,” Scott said, giving him a pat. Then his eyes widened. “Not that anyone’s threatened you or anything. This is probably like super unnecessary. Really. I just figure-”

            “Scott,” Derek said, smoothly cutting through the panicked ramble that he was sure Scott was about to launch into. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry that you have to put up with all this.”

            “Put up with this?” Scott said, shaking his head. “Dude, no- you don’t understand. This is awesome. You _belong_ here.”

            Scott said it with such conviction that Derek couldn’t help but smile a little. He felt that way but to hear _Scott_ say it was comforting.

            “I’m really glad you’re here,” Scott continued and his voice had gone soft and serious. Derek froze. “I think it will be good for Stiles. He’s been…”

            He faded out, frowning, the fingers of his right hand flexing before he shook his head.

            “Just watch out for him, okay?” Scott said and Derek tilted his head to the side in acceptance of the order automatically. Just as he had about a year ago, before he even knew what he was doing. However, this time Scott’s eyes caught on the motion and his mouth twisted.

            “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I’m not really an Alpha.”

            “Yes you are,” Derek replied instantly. Something in his stomach had twisted at even _Scott_ implying he wasn’t an Alpha. If it were anyone else, he would be openly growling. Scott’s glance at his eyes told him that they might be tinged with gold at the moment.

           "Well, you know what I mean," Scott said. "A werewolf Alpha." 

            “It doesn't matter," Derek said firmly. "You're still the Alpha. And, anyway,  it’s… natural.”

            He honestly hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. He couldn’t have stopped either. Scott tilted his head at him, meeting his glare head on for a moment, scanning his face as if he could read something important there. Then he relaxed into his trademark smile.

            “Okay,” Scott agreed easily, accepting Derek’s word automatically. “Just checking.”

            It really was a little ridiculous, how readily Scott just accepted things. He’d always been like that. Accepting Derek’s good intentions when he and Stiles had first been bought instantly, accepting apologies without a second thought, accepting the fact that Derek had just burst into his life and made him an official Alpha without missing a beat. Which reminded him-

           “How _did_ you know the ritual?” Derek asked, frowning. He had assumed that he would have to be the one to tell Scott how to officially accept a werewolf into his pack, especially since the ritual was incredibly private. Even in the Hale Household, no humans had attended the Joining Ceremony. “To accept me into your pack, I mean.”

            Maybe Scott had somehow _instinctively_ known what to do? But that didn’t make sense, he’d even known the right _words_.

            “Oh!” Scott said, grinning once more. “That was easy. Your mom taught me before we left.”

            Derek stared. Scott laughed.

            “She didn’t say it was for you specifically but,” he shrugged. “She seemed pretty confident that I would need to know it one day. Guess she was right, huh?”

            Derek nodded. His mom really had known. He didn’t know if he was annoyed or grateful that she hadn’t just _told_ him.

            “I keep having the urge to hug you,” Scott declared. “Is that normal?”

            Derek was startled into a laugh.

            “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I mean… at least for werewolves, when you join a pack you don’t smell like pack at first so your Alpha sort of- there’s a lot of touching.”

            “Okay,” Scott said and then Derek was being pulled into a hug. He wasn’t the hugging type but he’d lived with Laura and Cora for twenty three years and all his instincts told him this was his Alpha and it was good. So he relaxed.

            “Oh,” Scott said, thumping his back a little harder than necessary. “If you hurt Stiles, I’ll kill you. Well… not really kill you ‘cause I’m your Alpha and I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to do that. But as his brother, I have to tell you that. So I will.”

            “I won’t,” Derek said. “Hurt him. I promise.”

            “I know,” Scott said, giving Derek’s shoulder a last pat as he pulled away.

            Derek heard and sensed the presence at the door for only a moment before it was flung open.

            And in walked Lydia.

            Derek had obviously never met her before, but Stiles had said she had hair the color of a sunrise and his sense of pack had recognized her and… really, there was no one else it could be.

           He had to admit that already she was intimidating. And she’d done nothing but walked in the door.

            She was holding a stack of papers, flicking a long piece of hair out of her face and Derek couldn’t say if she hadn’t seen him or just dismissed him entirely but she didn’t spare him a glance.

            “Scott.” She didn’t say his name like a greeting. She said it like she was merely confirming she had his whole attention.

            She did.

            Scott had straightened as she entered and he didn’t look or smelled intimidated but he was focused.

            “Hey, Lydia,” Scott said. “What’s up?”

            “Here are the records of food consumption you wanted,” Lydia said, handing a few pieces of paper over. “I don’t think the fruit will last as long as you thought they would, but I believe we have enough grain to make up for it as long as the storage units hold.”

            “They should be fine,” Scott said, glancing at the paper for a moment. “Isaac has a team double-checking them now.”

            “Good,” Lydia said. “That’s your copy, by the way. I made my own. Also, I know you didn’t want to rely on the Alliance for anything but this is the list of medical supplies we’re short on. Your mother agrees that we should request to be restocked before January hits.”

            “I know,” Scott said, groaning a bit. “She’s already told me. You’re sure we can’t use plant substitutes?”

            “I’m sure,” Lydia said, pursing her lips for a moment. “And, before you ask, there’s no way we’d have the pharmacy up and running by then. So, yes, even though Stiles managed to find that stash of old drugs somehow, there’s no way we can have it all tested or organized in time. So just request these from someone in the Alliance.”

            Scott was still frowning at the papers. Lydia sighed.

            “At least, that’s my suggestion,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course, I never get sick so I don’t really care what you do about it.”

            “Right,” Scott muttered. “Okay, what else?”

            “Well, according to my estimates, our building materials are uneven at the moment. But Isaac mentioned that they were going to have to slow building due to the frost so that should give the blacksmiths time to get more nails ready, I assume and we’re still good on raw materials otherwise.”

            “Well, that’s good, right?” Scott said. He sounded relieved, as if he hadn’t gotten that much good news that day.

            “I suppose,” Lydia said, shrugging. “Now, about these reports that you and Stiles sent-”

            Derek watched as Scott went pink.

            “Look, they aren’t that-”

            “They’re terrible,” Lydia interrupted. “And I’m fairly positive you spelled the word poison four different ways.”

            “Well at least you could read them!” Scott said hopefully.

            “It took me hours,” Lydia replied. “Ancient Latin is easier to read than your writing. And- you.”

            Derek blinked, stiffening as he realized that she had turned suddenly and was pointing a finger in his direction.

            “You’re Derek,” she declared and her eyes traveled up and down his body in a way that was entirely judgmental.

            “Uh, yes,” he said. Stiles was right. She was terrifying.

            “So you’re the one who was _supposed_ to have taught these two idiots to read and write properly?”

            “Hey,” he said, annoyance pricking at the back of his mind. Stiles and Scott had learned _quickly_ for two adults who hadn’t even started reading until they were almost nineteen. “They only had a few months to lear-”

            “I assuming that means you can actually _read_ their horrific excuse for writing,” she said, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.

            “Well… yeah,” he said, glancing at Scott to see if he knew what was going on. Scott seemed completely content to let the heat of Lydia’s gaze fall on Derek, sending only an apologetic shrug in his direction.

            “Excellent,” she said. “You’re coming with me. You can help me organize the mess these two morons send me every time I tell them to write a report.”

            Derek blinked. Lydia turned to go. Then she stopped and glanced at Scott, glaring a challenge at him.

            “I can take him, right?” she said. “And is he allowed to read everything? Are we keeping secrets from him since he’s a werewolf?”

            “No,” Scott said, shaking his head and for the first time since Lydia came in, he looked firm. “Derek’s pack. No secrets.”

            “Good,” she said. “Let’s go.”

            “Wait,” Derek said. This was all happening very fast. He could feel that Lydia was pack but Stiles had told him that she had come in with the Argents. She was Allison’s best friend. He thought they hated him. “Aren’t you-?” He stopped, not knowing how to phrase it.

            “I’m not afraid of you,” Lydia told him, looking offended by the very idea. “I figured out a long time ago that most werewolves are just assholes with a ridiculous notion that they are in charge of things.”

            She cocked her head at him, blinking innocently.

            “You don’t think you’re in charge of _me_ , do you?”

            Her smile was sweet and absolutely horrifying.

            “No,” Derek said quickly, shaking his head. “No, not at all.” To the side, Scott made a choked noise that might have been his attempt to hold in laughter.

            “Perfect. We’re gonna have a great time,” she declared and Derek thought that perhaps the most terrifying thing about that statement was that her heart didn’t tick faster. She wasn’t lying. Derek was just concerned as to what her definition of “a great time” was.

            Still, when she turned to leave again, he followed, glaring at Scott when it became clear that Scott was going to burst out laughing the moment they left the room.

            They had taken two steps away from Headquarters, when Derek _finally_ saw Stiles. He waved to Lydia and then his hand sort of stayed frozen in the air when he saw Derek and Derek wanted to stop and smile and maybe kiss him because it had only been the morning but he _missed_ him and-

            “Stiles,” Lydia said by way of greeting. “I’m stealing your boyfriend to help me in the library. You two can stare at each other on your own time.”

            Then she was walking again and Derek didn’t see any choice but to follow her.

            “Have fun!” Stiles called after them, but it was over dramatic and full of laughter and Derek was positive that he and Scott were going to lose it the moment Stiles walked into Headquarters.

            Derek thought that maybe he should have stayed in the cabin.

 

End Part IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Also, this is something that's been going around tumblr and I probably don't have to mention this- but please don't link this story to goodreads! Okay, thanks!
> 
> I am away from Thursday to Tuesday with very limited computer access so if I don't respond to a question right away, that's why!
> 
> That also means that the next update will probably not be until Wednesday. Is that Christmas Eve? Huh. I don't think I'll be too busy. So probably then. Sincerest apologies if I miss it- I'll try to keep my  tumblr updated as soon as I know the exact date!


	5. Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is an update! As always, longer notes will be at the bottom!
> 
>  
> 
> **Detailed trigger warnings in the notes at the end.**

**Part V**

 

            Sometimes, in her worse moments, Melissa McCall thought that that they never should have left the Hales. She thought that they should have stayed where they were safe and warm and had unlimited food and were remarkably free despite still being slaves.

            And she knew she shouldn’t think that, knew that neither of her boys would agree with that sentiment, knew that, really, she didn’t either. Beacon Hills was lovely and important and _good_ and Melissa was proud that she could call it her home.

            She just worried. She couldn’t help it. She had lived in something like terror for six years and then she’d found them and they were _safe_ and _together_ and then so soon – too soon – they’d risked it all again.

            She was a mother, she told herself. She was allowed to worry.

            So she did.

            She worried when they first arrived and Scott and Stiles threw themselves into planning and building and farming and a thousand other projects. She worried as she watched them both lose sleep and then weight and steadfastly ignore any of the people, namely herself, Joe and Nancy, who told them to slow down. She worried when Scott when through two inhalers in two months and Stiles crashed and slept for fourteen hours at one point. She worried when it had taken her son had _falling off a roof_ to finally get him to stop running himself to the ground. She worried that nothing had stopped Stiles.

            She worried when they’d crashed on the floor of Joe and Nancy’s house for that first month and she realized the full extent of Stiles’ nightmares. Scott had mentioned them before, almost casually, but she’d never been close enough to hear them. Then they’d been right outside her door and she’d nearly lost her mind. Sometimes Stiles would wake up with a shout and she could hear Scott snap awake as well. But Scott hadn’t seemed surprised or panicked like she thought he would be. Instead, she listened as Scott rose to get Stiles a glass of water and murmured stories until Stiles breathing slowed and he was able to at least chuckle at whatever ridiculous things her son was saying. Sometimes it took only a few minutes, sometimes she heard both boy rise and leave the cabin completely.

            She worried most on the nights when she heard the slide and click of a door being opened and closed in the middle of the night and she realized that sometimes Stiles woke silently and his response wasn’t to wake Scott up, but to leave on his own.

            She even managed to worry when Isaac arrived. Things had slowed down at that point as much of the planting was finished. Then the boys decided they needed their own place and Melissa couldn’t really argue because they were all still sleeping on the ground but that project meant that any free time they may have gained vanished and then she couldn’t even _hear_ if Stiles was still sleeping poorly and-

            She just worried. Because they were so young and they were taking on so much. Though it didn’t do any good because all three boys ignored her in their own way. Scott just smiled at her, clearly still enthralled with the fact that she was _there_ to worry about him and Isaac just looked honored that she thought to nag him as well and Stiles… well, Stiles-

            She shook her head and for a moment, forced her mind towards the task at hand. She was headed up to Headquarters to grab her two boys, who had of course, managed to work past the time they were supposed to be at dinner. Nancy had tried to insist that they could wait but Melissa knew that if they did that, they might never eat.

            She peeked in the window as she approached and felt her heart sink.

            Scott was sitting, slumped in a chair, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other holding a piece of paper close enough to his face that Melissa knew he must be exhausted. Scott never complained about his eyesight but she knew that when he got tired, he tended to squint more, dragging things closer and closer in order to see them. Stiles was standing across from him, two hands on the table as he leaned on it and his hair stuck up in the front, a sure sign that he had been threading his hands through his hair and curling them into fists.

            The boys were clearly tired and stressed and it was achingly familiar. Melissa had lost count of how many times she’d found them like this. She didn’t want to think about the instances that she didn’t catch them.

            A few months ago, she’d decided to swing through to grab something on her early morning walk and all three of them been _asleep_ in Headquarters. She found out by _tripping_ over Isaac as she opened the door. She’d screamed. Scott and Isaac had screamed. Stiles had rolled to his feet with a fluidity that he never had in the light of day, clutching something in his fist before realizing who she was and hastily shoving it back in his boot.

            The boys had apologized and blushed and giggled as Melissa yelled at them to go get some real sleep and for once they’d listened to her. Probably because she’d gone full-mom mode and practically escorted them back to their cottage.

            She opened the door to Headquarters quietly, catching their conversation but not wanting to interrupt as she stuck her head in.

            “We’ve talked about this and I _know_ , Stiles,” Scott was saying, shaking his head. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”

            “Then let me go try again,” Stiles said. “I talked with Talia. She said that she would make sure my records were cleared this time. The poison worked perfectly.”

            “No,” Scott replied Melissa watched as Stiles opened his mouth to argue. Scott continued quickly. “I’m not saying that because I want you to stay safe. But, we don’t have the resources right now. Did you read the report Lydia sent over? Even if we managed to free them, we don’t have homes for them. Or food.”

            “We don’t even know how many there would be,” Stiles insisted. “Last time it was only around ten. That’s not that many extra bodies.”

            Scott frowned and Melissa could see that he was torn. Torn because the Scott of nine months ago would have been overly optimistic and argued with Stiles for completely different reasons but… but her son was older now. He had accepted things. Things like he couldn’t just assume everything would work out and that he couldn’t keep Stiles safely contained to Beacon Hills. Melissa’ heart ached as she watched him rub a tired hand across his eyes.

            “We’d need to secure the resources before you tried anything,” Scott allowed. “We should go over the numbers Lydia sent and see if we can cut corners anywhere. Isaac said building can continue on projects that already have the foundation and plumbing set up.”

            “And I should at least do a recon mission,” Stiles said. “Even if we can’t get them out right away, we’d know how many to prepare for.”

            Melissa watched as Scott’s mouth tightened and she knew that he hated it.

            He hated that Stiles organized and took the lead on almost all the stealth missions of their camp. He hated that too often in the past five months, Stiles was _gone_ , establishing ties with the few other free human societies they knew of or making connections to werewolves who could be convinced or paid to be allies in the towns somehow or conveniently “finding” supplies that they needed. Stiles was just away too often and Scott hated it even though he relied on it.

            Melissa didn’t know that Scott’s hated it because he told her. She knew because it was the one thing that he would never talk to her about.

             Her son had always been kind and good and supportive and, above all, talkative. Even when he was little, he had told her everything. He told her about what he and Stiles had done that day, the games they had played, the secret paths they had discovered. When they’d reached seven and were expected to complete basic chores around the plantation, he’d proudly told her when he and Stiles managed to finish quickly or how Stiles had come up with ways to get them out of it completely. And now that he was grown and he was back in her life, he still talked to her.

            He told her all about Allison and about his hopes for Beacon Hills and his worries about the Argents that he didn’t like admitting to anyone. He told her when projects were complete, he told her how he wanted to get better at reading when he had the time, he told her his plans for the house he wanted to build her. He was her son and Melissa had heard rumors that teenaged boys were supposed to outgrow their mothers but Scott hadn't. He was still hers. He talked to her every day.

            But he never talked to her about Stiles.

            And Melissa admitted that there were times over the past year that her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d pushed.

            She’d asked bluntly at times. When she’d finally seen Stiles without a shirt on and had seen that the scar ran along the edge of his neck was actually just one in a set of four claw marks that marred his chest and back. When she’d woken up four times in a row to the sounds of frantic gasps for air. When she’s gone to the boy’s early one morning only to find that sometimes Stiles opted to sleep out in the woods rather than in his room.

            She’d asked, gently, trying to make it clear that she just wanted to help and each time Scott’s eyes had gone tight and he didn’t answer. He either deflected, shrugged and assured her Stiles was fine, or shook his head silently. Even when she didn’t ask questions, even when she just expressed her own concerns, Scott nodded in acknowledgment but changed the subject at the earliest opportunity.

            The message was clear. Stiles was a topic that Scott was unwilling to discuss. The six years that they were on their own had created a bond that not even Melissa could breach.

            So she worried.

            And she didn’t feel guilty when she admitted that she worried for Stiles more than Scott. Because Stiles wasn’t the young, happy, playful child she remembered. At least, not always. Sometimes he spoke through smiles and interrupted himself with laughter and sometimes he helped Scott invent new games that involved a surprising amount of rules that he managed to break, and sometimes he composed sonnets that he proceeded to sing to Lydia, and… sometimes he was the Stiles she remembered.

            And sometimes he wasn’t. He was harder now, not dark, not cruel – unfortunately five years spent sharing a cottage with Scott’s father had taught her to recognize those signs -- but… he was reckless. With himself. He had still never allowed her to give him a check-up and the missions were getting more dangerous and he never seemed to care about his injuries.

            Two months ago, he’d come back from leading an attack on a small caravan of slave traders with a gash on his arm that hadn’t stopped bleeding and had tried to _wave her away_ when she insisted it needed stitches.

            “You’ve only been back a week,” Scott said. “Let’s just wait for a little.”

            Stiles was already frowning, ready to jump in.

            “Boys,” she said, taking the opportunity to announce her presence at last. Both immediately looked over, mirror frowns of confusion on their faces. “Time to go.”

            “Go?” Stiles asked. “Go where?”

            “I promised Nancy and Joe we would have dinner with them tonight,” Scott said, throwing the paper he had been holding onto the table.

            Stiles’ face flicked into a frown. And if there was any sign that Melissa should be worried about Stiles, it was that. The fact that he hadn’t warmed to Nancy and Joe like everyone else had. He wasn’t obvious about it but he kept his distance, fading into a quiet and polite version of himself whenever he actually made it to one of their dinners. More often than not, he was away or busy.

            Melissa knew on some level that Stiles was pushing her away. He didn’t have to push Joe and Nancy away because he’d never gotten close.

            “We have a lot to do,” Stiles said, reaching for the paper Scott had dropped. “I can stay back and-”

            “Nope,” Scott said, snagging Stiles’ wrist. He and Derek seemed to be the only ones with permission to touch Stiles on a regular basis. “Pack meeting. We can do it tomorrow.”

            “You’re taking this pack thing a little far,” Stiles grumbled but he let himself be pulled to the door.

            “Derek and Lydia are already there,” Melissa added, trying to be helpful. She felt some of her worry ease when Stiles’ lips twitched up for a moment at the mention of Derek. “Isaac too.”

            “We gotta hurry then,” Scott said, looping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders as soon as they were clear of the doorway. “Isaac and Derek will have eaten all the food!”

            “Both of them do eat like horses,” Stiles replied as the two moved ahead of her.

            “Fat horses,” Scott agreed. “Race you!”

            Scott was off in a flash, and Melissa watched as Stiles remained stunned for all of a second.

            “Scott!” Stiles yelled even as he dashed forward, clearly intending to win. “You have asthma!”

            “Still can beat you!” Scott called over his shoulder and Stiles barked a laugh and then was sprinting after him.

            It made Melissa’s worry ease. That at least sometimes they remembered that they might be managing an entire revolution but they were still only twenty.

            They would be okay, she told herself firmly. They would be.

            She just wished that she didn’t have to remind herself of that so often.

 

           

*^*^

 

            There were days when Derek thought he understood Stiles. Days when Stiles seemed light and available and alive and the knotted presence in Derek’s head that was Stiles didn’t open entirely but it loosened enough for Stiles’ humor to spill onto everything. There were days when Derek though he even helped it loosen. At least a little.

            The past seven days had been almost easy. Lydia seemed to have decided that Derek wasn’t a complete idiot and he admitted that, after a few days of feeling tense and unsure how to react to her tendency to alternate between humming peacefully and cursing without pause, he was starting to highly enjoy working at the library with her. For the most part, Lydia had him transcribing Scott and Stiles’ writing into “something she could actually use” but she had begun showing him her system and showing him how she used past records to estimate how long they could last. It was more math than he was used to but she seemed pleased by his progress.

            So, work with Lydia was going well and it kept him from having to deal with too many other people. Though he had taken to helping Deaton or Isaac in the morning since Lydia informed him that she didn’t work before she’d had her proper rest.

            He and Stiles had been easy too. There had been one mistake, one time when he’d said goodbye to Stiles by quickly pressing his lips to Stiles’ and Stiles had gone cold with panic and it had taken him four minutes to calm down enough to ask that Derek please not do that (even though Derek had already vowed to _never_ do that again).

            _“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, still wringing his hands together as if the slight motion helped. “Sorry- it’s just. Matt- one of them used to do that whenever he finished. The quick, little goodbye-” Stiles cut off to swallow and for a moment it seemed he might panic again, his breath hitching as his eyes slid closed._

_“Stiles,” Derek said, taking a slow step closer. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”_

_“Right, yeah,” Stiles said, his head jerked in a nod. “Sorry. I just… didn’t even know that that would- I hadn’t even remembered that.”_

_Derek went cold. This is what he had been afraid of. That being with Derek would be painful._

_“It’s such a little thing,” Stiles continued, still looking down at his hands. His scent twisted into frustration. “I should be able to- It’s so_ stupid _.”_

_“It’s not stupid,” Derek insisted immediately. “Stiles, he- you-” It was his turn to panic. He had no idea what to say. He was so bad at this- the heavy stuff. He just didn’t know what Stiles wanted him to say, what he needed to hear. He didn’t know how to make it better._

_He felt so useless._

_What he wanted to do was wrap Stiles in a hug. He wanted to drop his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and run his hands through Stiles hair and just…_ hold him _until he felt better. Until the tremors stopped and he smelled like peace again and the memories went away._

_Werewolves were tactile creatures and all Derek’s instincts were screaming at him to_ touch _._

_But that wouldn’t help Stiles. Not right now. Stiles didn’t like touch. He didn’t even really like talking about this. Stiles liked thinking about other things and-_

_Humor. That’s how Stiles dealt with things. Derek took a breath. He could do that._

_“So, you’re saying I just always have to kiss you for longer than five seconds?” Derek asked and, as always, he was glad that his voice came out calmer than he felt. One of them had to hold it together in these situations. And he was happy it could be him instead of Stiles. “That won’t be a problem.”_

_It wasn't exactly a joke. But it was light and he tried to put a teasing smile on his face and-_

_Stiles let out a breath into a laugh. It was more startled than amused but the tension eased anyway. Derek let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. ._

_“Yeah,” Stiles said, taking a breath and Derek saw him pull himself together. The knot in his head loosened ever so slightly. The smile he directed at Derek was forced but his eyes softened as they caught on Derek’s frown. “Okay. Over five seconds. No big deal.”_

_Stiles still smelled faintly of panic as he walked over and pressed his lips to Derek’s and Derek froze and thought that Stiles must be able to hear how quickly his heart was pounding in his chest and the kiss didn’t deepen like they usually did but after five seconds, Stiles pulled away. He looked satisfied with himself as if he had overcome something and Derek didn’t know whether to be proud or concerned that Stiles was pushing himself too hard._

            But Stiles had been fine when he’d seen him later that day and they’d made out that night once more, stopping when Stiles frowned down at Derek and Derek admitted that _he_ was exhausted and Stiles had rolled off him, laughing and calling him lazy.

            So, generally, Derek thought that he was doing pretty well. That he was making Stiles happy. That he knew what to do to make Stiles smile.

            But then there were nights like tonight, when Derek thought that every decision he made was somehow the wrong one and he did nothing but make it worse.

            He didn’t need his sense of pack to tell that Stiles was on edge at dinner. He didn’t even really need his sense of smell. Stiles had arrived breathless and happy, bragging about having beaten Scott in the race to get there. He’d caught Derek’s eyes and smiled and then Nancy tutted at everyone to sit down. And Stiles smile had dropped slightly but Derek was just pleased that Nancy had arranged it so that he and Stiles could sit next to each other. So he didn't pay too much attention.

            From the beginning, Stiles had been quieter than usual but Scott and Lydia had filled the silence nicely and at first, Derek had assumed that Stiles was just willing to let the others take the lead. But then Stiles’ smile had become fixed and his laughs were half a beat late and ended too soon. And he smelled… negative. He smelled of frustration and annoyance and a prevailing muted sadness that Derek couldn’t place.

            Once dinner was over, he’d suggested a walk. Because his previous experience with Stiles was that when Stiles got frustrated, sometimes it was just because he needed to get out of the library and move around a little bit. Their conversation in the woods about Stiles loving the freedom of the outdoors only confirmed his theory. He thought that a walk through the woods would help.

            But it wasn’t.

            It was a nice night out, cold without being biting and it was clear enough to see the stars. On a good day, Stiles would be looking up and Derek’s real purpose would be to make sure that he didn’t run headfirst into a branch or maybe even a tree and then probably take the pain out of his neck when they were finished. But right now, Stiles wasn’t even bothering to look up. His eyes were either pointed at the ground or glaring at the woods.

            “So,” Derek started, shifting. He wanted to reach out and tangle Stiles’ fingers in his own but he knew without being told that Stiles would hate that, hate being held in place. “Dinner was good.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles agreed shorty, his scent turning even more bitter for a moment before he took a breath and seemed to try and force it back. “Yeah, Nancy’s a really good cook.”

            “She is,” Derek agreed. There was something going on here. Something that explained Stiles’ dark mood and all the hesitation when it came to Joe and Nancy. “I think Joe helps too.”

            “He does,” Stiles said. “They make everything together.” His scent dipped further into sadness.

            Derek nodded wordlessly. Stiles didn’t fill the silence like he usually did.

            “Are you okay?” Derek finally just asked. He just wanted Stiles to tell him what was wrong. Or what he could do to help, if Stiles wanted to be alone or with Scott or-

            “Yeah,” Stiles lied, shrugging. “I’m fine.”

            “It’s just-” Derek started but then Stiles was shooting forward, back towards the house.

            “Let’s do something else,” Stiles said and he looked back at Derek with a smirk and one raised eyebrow. And Derek knew it was forced, obviously, but the sadness was shoved down in favor of something mischievous and younger and Derek wasn’t going to question it.

            The last time Stiles had looked at him like that, it had been behind Lydia’s back, right after he’d finished telling her that Scott needed Derek for a moment.

            He’d proceeded to push Derek against the back wall of the library, tangle his fingers in Derek’s hair and pull him down for an almost _dirty_ kiss.

            When Derek returned, red-faced and smiling, Lydia had rolled her eyes but hadn’t complained.

            So he pushed down his concerns for now and hoped that this would help lift Stiles’ mood and followed Stiles back to their house. As they both stripped of their jackets down to their t-shirts and changed into shorts, Derek noted that it was empty, doubtless because Scott and Isaac were still with Nancy and Joe or maybe back at Headquarters. He quested out for a moment, just to make sure they weren’t on their way back, but then found himself on his back in what had become their bed with Stiles on top of him and-

            Thinking was more difficult after that. He held onto the important things- like the fact that Stiles was okay with him putting his hands on his waist and running them up along his ribs but too high, too close to his scars and he would tense. He held onto the fact that Stiles was more comfortable with whines than growls, though that wasn’t really an issue because Stiles’ mouth was firmly covering his own so whines were currently the only thing that could escape. And then even when Stiles’ mouth left, it was only to kiss confidently along his jawline and over to his ear and then Derek was really only capable of a whimper.

            Stiles’ mouth was curved into a smile when it came back to open against his own and Derek was hard- so fucking hard – but he realized that _Stiles_ was too and Stiles was even grinding down a little, his kiss going uncoordinated and Derek couldn’t help his hips from hitching upward even though he tried to, even though the scents from their walk before still lingered in the air and-

            He felt Stiles sort of freeze and then Stiles was flinching off him, heart beating unevenly. Luckily there was room on other side of the bed – the one that was usually Derek’s --  for him to flop onto his back without touching Derek because Derek’s mind was just coming back online and he couldn’t have moved over right then.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles spat, lifting on arm to cover his face in the crook of his elbow. Derek watched as Stiles’ hand tightened in his own hair, pulling harshly. He was still panting for breath, still hard even but he didn’t smell like arousal anymore. Just frustration. “Goddam fucking- Fuck.”

            “Stiles-” Derek started, taking a deep breath to try and control his own breathing. This was a mistake. He knew, he fucking _knew_ Stiles was off tonight. They shouldn’t have tried this.

            “Don’t,” Stiles ordered curtly. He didn’t remove his arm from his face. “Just- don’t. Fucking piece of- here.”

            Stiles removed his arm long enough to glance at Derek for a moment and then Derek watched, speechless, as Stiles slowly and deliberately jerked his chin up and to the side.

            Exposing his neck.

            “What are you doing?” Derek choked. His voice came out hoarse and unsteady.

            “Werewolves like this,” Stiles said and his voice was determined. “I know. Submitting, right? Just go for it. I’m telling you to. At least one of us should enjoy this and I’ll just- let’s just power through. So this is it. Me submitting to you. Go crazy.”

            For a moment, Derek could only stare. Because he hated it, _hated_ the implication that he was anything like the werewolves had been with previously but…

            But for a moment, the line of Stiles’ neck, muscles bunching and relaxing as he swallowed was all he could focus on. Because, fuck him, he _wanted_. He wanted to kiss Stiles’ there, to rake his teeth gently along the flesh, to suck on the point where Stiles’ neck met his shoulder and run his tongue-

            Then the rest of it hit him- Stiles’ words and the way his hands were balled into fists at his side and his eyes were screwed closed and it was like being hit by a bucket of ice water.

            _No. This was wrong._

            “Stiles,” he said, reaching over to carefully put a hand on Stiles’ cheek and guide his head back down so they were looked at each other. The flinch that ran along Stiles’ body told him he was right to stop this even though Stiles was glaring at him stubbornly, mouth already open to argue. Derek shook his head and continued. “That’s not what that is. It’s not submitting.”

            “Yes it is,” Stiles said, frowning. “It’s… it’s saying yes.”

            For an agonizing moment, he could picture it. Someone forcing Stiles’ head up like that physically, or telling him to do it often enough that Stiles thought that baring your throat in bed was just something werewolves _liked._

            He thought it was saying yes.

            Derek’s throat closed. Usually, when something happened that alluded to Stiles’ past, he got angry. Rage took an almost physical presence in his gut and his eyes would surge gold for a moment because he _hated_ them, _hated_ the werewolves that had done this to Stiles. And he still did.

            But now, in this moment, he wasn’t angry.

            He was just sad.

            He was heartbroken. Because Stiles was so _wrong_ and werewolves had lied to him and hurt him and they’d distorted what was supposed to be something sacred. They’d made it something sick and wrong and evil.

            And there was nothing Derek could do to fix that. He couldn’t undo it.

            “It’s okay,” Stiles said, looking at Derek in concern. “I _want_ to say yes to you. I want to get past this and if submitting will-”

            “It’s not submitting,” Derek repeated. He saw Stiles open his mouth to argue. “Maybe with an Alpha, but… with partners it’s different. That-” he waved his hand helplessly in the direction of Stiles’ neck. “Doing that isn’t submitting. It’s a sign of trust.”

            He sensed when Stiles finally stopped trying to interrupt. So he kept talking. Because Stiles had to know what this meant. So that one day, if he wanted to do it for real, he’d know what he was doing.

            “It’s showing your weakest point to your mate because you trust them,” Derek said. “Because you know they’re not going to hurt you.”

            Unbidden, his eyes flickered down to snag at the scar that ran along the base of Stiles’ neck. He forced them back up to Stiles’ face in an instant. He couldn’t think about that right now.

            “Oh,” Stiles said softly and his gaze turned inward for a moment. Briefly, Derek wondered if there was another way to explain it. He was bad with words, always had been, but he had to make Stiles see that exposing your neck wasn’t supposed to be a sex thing. It was supposed to be about connection and assurance and- “Okay.”

            Stiles was quiet for another beat. Then,

            “I still want to do things,” Stiles said, mouth set in a stubborn line. Derek knew his part in this scene. He would say there was no rush and that Stiles shouldn’t be pressuring himself and that they would get there someday.

            “Okay,” he said instead. And he had to smile, just a little when Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. In an instant, Stiles was trying to sit up, clearly ready to attempt round two.

            “Wait,” Derek said, gently moving his hand to Stiles’ shoulder and push him back towards the bed. “Let me try something.”

            Derek rolled onto his side, keeping the pressure on Stiles’ shoulder to stop him from doing the same.

            “Uh, Derek,” Stiles said, embarrassed. “I don’t think you should-”

            “I’m not going to get on top of you,” Derek promised. “Just relax. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

            Stiles’ mouth was still partly open, doubtless to ask more questions so Derek leaned over and kissed him.

            He didn’t work his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, just let their lips interlock and kissed him like he loved kissing Stiles, slow and soft and deliberate. He liked the feel of Stiles’ lips against his own, the way that he could sense as Stiles finally let himself relax, the unique smell of surprise and peace that came over Stiles whenever Derek kissed him just like this.

            Derek was still propped up on his left elbow, trying to keep as much of the weight as he could off of Stiles. Slowly he wound that hand through Stiles’ hair. It was more so Stiles knew where it was, but his thumb could move softly against Stiles’ temple and jawline. For a moment, he just did that- kissed Stiles and swept his thumb gently down Stiles’ face. Then, carefully, he placed his right hand on Stiles’ stomach.

            He went slowly. First taking the time to run his tongue along Stiles’ lower lip and then sucking it gently into his mouth for only a moment. Before long, they were kissing in earnest but Derek kept the pace slow, lingering with each swipe, and it would almost be lazy except Derek had never been more focused.

            Meanwhile, his right hand kept moving. He started with hesitant circles, keeping his hand over Stiles’ shirt even as it traveled lower. Stiles didn’t stop him, didn’t seem to even notice so he pressed more firmly and let it keep its downward trajectory.

            He pulled back from their kiss briefly as his fingers finally met skin, brushing under the waistband of Stiles’ pants. Stiles didn’t say anything so he moved further down, hooking his thumb to slide up Stiles’ shirt a little so his whole hand could lay flat against Stiles’ skin.

            “Is this okay?” he asked softly, trying to scan Stiles’ face for signs of distress. He couldn’t trust his sense of smell right now. His own arousal was too strong. But they’d never done this before. Shirts had stayed on. He’d never been allowed to touch. He had to make sure.

            “Y-yeah,” Stiles stuttered and when he opened his eyes, his pupils were blown. “Yeah, this is- yeah.”

            Derek smiled and kissed him, moving his hand down even further and Stiles was hard, brushing against the top of Derek’s knuckles. He managed to wait another moment, trying to stall by focusing on the way Stiles’ tongue moved into his mouth a little more forcibly now. But then he couldn’t wait a moment longer, so he reached down and took Stiles in his hand and-

            The sound of Stiles’ breath hitching and his heart suddenly stopping then re-starting at a faster tempo might have been the most wonderful thing Derek had ever heard.

            The fact that it repeated itself as Derek stroked for the first time, curling his thumb around the tip before sliding back down was almost too good to be true.

            From there it was easy. Derek couldn’t quite focus on what he was doing, too wrapped up in the touch and sounds and smells of it all to worry about technique. He knew at one point he reached his hand up to lick it but only because Stiles’ whimpered at the loss. He knew their kiss lost its finesse as Stiles began panting in earnest but honestly, he wasn’t much better. He knew that eventually Stiles’ hand came up to clamp on his arm and Derek was terrified, _terrified_ that Stiles was going to tell him to stop. But he didn’t.

            “Derek,” Stiles gasped and Derek slowed but didn’t stop. “Der- I’m going to-”

            It was then that Derek finally looked down and noticed that Stiles was arching up into him, that it hadn’t even mattered that he’d slowed because Stiles was still moving and the hand around Derek’s forearm wasn’t stopping him but encouraging him and-

            “Stiles,” Derek mumbled and then Stiles was coming with a groan that sounded like he had tried to hold it in.

            Derek held him through most of it and then he couldn’t help it but he hand flew to his own pants because – fuck, he’d never been so hard in his life because all he could smell was _Stiles_ and Stiles had let him do that and-

            “Can I?” he asked. He had to make sure Stiles was okay with it, that it wasn’t going to ruin it.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said, voice a little slow and maybe unsure. “What do you need me to-”

            “Nothing,” Derek managed. Then he realized he was lying but he didn’t have time to articulate it so he just reached over and grabbed Stiles’ hand and brought it to rest against his neck and then his hand was back in his own pants, gripping himself firmly and he probably should’ve at least licked it again but-

            But he closed his eyes and focused on what Stiles’ face had looked like when he came and then Stiles moved his thumb from where it had landed in the hollow of Derek’s throat, swiping upwards and-

            He came almost immediately after, breathing hard and rolled onto his back, feeling every muscle in his body relax.

            “Dude,” Stiles said after a length of time that Derek couldn’t begin to define. “That was…”

            He faded out and Derek forced himself to open one eye.

            “Was that alright?” he asked, frowning. Stiles didn’t _smell_ upset and if Derek focused on it, the pack bond was practically alight with excitement, though that could have been from his end.

            He thought it would help. That if they could just do something slow and intimate and Stiles could relax, he would stop smelling like frustration and shame. But maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he’d gone too fast and Stiles wasn’t nearly ready for that and-

            Luckily, Stiles’ laugh, wild and loud and perhaps a bit overwhelmed but _light_ , cut through his rising panic and told him all he needed to know.

            The laugh faded and Stiles was quiet and Derek could feel his gaze. Derek’s eyes had slipped shut but he didn’t open them, accepting Stiles’ scrutiny peacefully. Sometimes Stiles didn’t trust words. He needed to look. Derek knew that. Derek had known since he’d stood in front of Stiles and Scott at the slave market and Stiles had run his gaze all along him, only glaring harder when he caught Derek’s eye. He known since he’d offered to teach him to read and since he’d put lotion on Stiles’ back and-

            It had been the same since their first kiss in the woods, ten days ago now.

            He didn’t know what Stiles was looking for. Derek just hoped he found it.

            “We made a mess,” Stiles announced after a few minutes. “I’ll change first.”

            “Okay,” Derek said. The part of him that was entirely wolf was saying that he didn’t need to change. He was with his mate and he was warm and safe and-

            “You better be off my side of the bed when I get back,” Stiles told him, mock seriously.

            Derek nodded.

            He could manage that.

            In a minute.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles brushed his teeth and threw on new clothes quickly, thankful for the millionth time that Scott had decided he wasn’t above using his leader-privileges to get them a private washroom. Most people had small water tank that held enough for basic cooking and cleaning and Isaac was working on expanding the plumbing system but, at the moment, their cottage was one of the few that connected right to the well. Isaac had also designed the room large enough that Stiles didn’t feel like he was completely enclosed as he changed and rinsed his clothes quickly in the shower.

            Words couldn’t quite describe how he felt. Despite a stressful day and then dinner at Nancy and Joe’s, which always presented a unique challenge, and then stomping around the woods, he felt calm.

            He didn’t even feel like he had to think about or obsess over what Derek had explained to him about werewolves and necks or the way Derek had looked so _sad_ that Stiles felt awful for making him look like that.

            But that was before and now- 

            Now, he was just relaxed and peaceful and so fucking happy he didn’t know what to do with it.

            He suddenly realized why Scott and Allison were always coordinating secret meetings in the middle of the day and returning half an hour later in much better moods.

            When he returned to his room, he saw that Derek hadn’t moved.

            “Dude,” Stiles said, yawning. “You’re gonna be all sticky and gross in the morning.”

            “Don’t care,” Derek mumbled. “Maybe I like sticky and gross.”

            And it made Stiles grin because he’d never seen this Derek before. _Post-orgasm Derek_ , his brain informed him and Stiles decided that this might be even better than Drunk Derek.

            He just hoped he could manage it again. Derek had made it seem so easy, so simple and he was…

            Derek was always finding things to do that Stiles didn’t have any bad memories to associate with because they had never been done to him before. Matt had been creative, had made Stiles to do a lot of things, had forced Stiles to come enough times that Stiles sometimes heard his sick laughter if he got too close but-

            But Matt had never laid him down and kissed him like he mattered and focused just on him. Matt had never said his name the way that Derek said it.

            Matt certainly didn’t ask _permission_ to jerk himself off after Stiles came.

            Abruptly, Stiles realized he was just staring down fondly at Derek.

            He shook himself.

            “Derek!” Stiles called and he wasn’t unsympathetic to Derek’s plight, falling asleep sounded fairly awesome to him right now as well but Derek was on his side of the bed and no matter how relaxed Stiles was currently feeling, sleeping pressed between a person and a wall was never going to happen. He needed escape routes.

            “You’re the worst,” Derek grunted but he sat up.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said. “I’ve heard it all before.”

            Derek snorted softly before rising and heading to the bathroom, grabbing a set of clothes from the extra dresser that Isaac had brought in a few days ago.

            Stiles sat down at his desk, which was cluttered with old reports and lists and had the crazy idea that he should really write to Jenny. She had seemed fairly livid when he’d seen her.

            Which, again, was fair because Stiles was pretty bad at writing letters.

            Though, he did have a pile of letters he’d written to Derek stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk that he thought maybe he should show Derek someday. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to send any of them, not when he was supposed to be forgetting Derek but now… well, now they were “an item” as Nancy would say.

            Stiles couldn’t help but frown, feeling some of his happiness evaporate as he replayed dinner in his mind. He was being unfair, he knew. And he thought he had hidden his discomfort with Joe and Nancy fairly well but clearly Derek knew something was up. There was no way that Stiles could mistake Derek’s stilted attempts at conversation earlier that night as anything but prying for information as to why Stiles was so unhappy. And he knew it had something to do with the two original members of Beacon Hills.

            Stiles sighed. He really should just tell Derek. Derek was so fucking _good_ to him and he deserved the truth about something.

            Even if the truth was embarrassing and selfish and made Stiles feel like the worst fucking person on earth. He _knew_ that he practically _was_ the worst person on the planet. Because, honestly, who didn’t love Nancy and Joe? Even Derek had mentioned them enough in the past week that Stiles knew he liked them.

            “Stiles?” Derek asked, re-entering the room. Stiles knew his good mood must’ve fled completely at least according to his scent as Derek’s eyebrows were drawn together.

            Stiles flashed him a smile that he knew Derek wouldn’t believe. But Derek lay down on the bed anyway, tucking himself into the corner, taking up much less than half the bed.

            “Are you okay?” Derek asked, propping himself up on his elbows. “Should I not have-”

            “No,” Stiles said quickly. Maybe he should just ignore this and go to sleep. “I’m just thinking about before. In the woods.”

            It was ridiculous that a part of him _wanted_ to talk about this, that on some level he wanted to tell Derek this.

            But it was like so many other things. He just felt that Derek should know.

            “About Nancy and Joe?” Derek asked.

            Stiles nodded and took a moment to stretch out on the bed next to Derek, staring up at the ceiling and wishing idly it was just the sky. His drummed his fingers on his chest, a habit from when his scar was healing and itchy and he couldn’t help but poke at it.

            “You don’t like them?” Derek pressed.

            “No, I-” Stiles stopped. He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know how to explain it to _Derek_ who still had a family- a mother and father and sisters and an uncle and-

            “I don’t have any parents,” Stiles finally started and he felt Derek go still next to him. He really didn’t need to say that though. Derek knew that. Derek had known that for a year now. For as long as Stiles had known.

            Stiles still had to remind himself sometimes. Because he usually avoided thinking about it and so often it just didn’t feel real. It felt like his dad was still out there somewhere. Like Stiles should be able to save him. Like it was impossible that he could just be _gone_ without Stiles ever seeing him again.

            Derek was silent next to him.

            “So I just… I don’t like pretending that I do,” Stiles said. “I don’t like when people act like they are.”

            There. He’d said it. That was the real reason he couldn’t get comfortable around Joe and Nancy.

            Because they were so fucking _nice_ and welcoming and Nancy wanted to talk to him and make them dinners and fuss over him and just every time she did and every time Joe laughed with him or called him _son_ , all Stiles could think was: _No, no I am not. And you are not my parents._

            But they acted like they were. Or at least how Stiles assumed parents acted. They always worried before he went away on missions and made a big deal when he returned and wanted updates on how his injuries were doing and-

            Scott and Isaac loved it. Scott answered every smile with a grin of his own and Isaac had taken to learning carpentry from Joe during any moment of spare time. Even Lydia accepted their chatter while a smile of gratitude that she never bestowed on anyone else.

            “Oh,” Derek said softly and Stiles didn’t _hear_ any judgment in his voice, more a soft kind of surprise and maybe confusion but he knew it must be there.

            Hell, he judged himself.

            “I know it’s awful,” Stiles said, throwing a hand over his face. “It’s just- they’re so friendly and they automatically parent _everyone_ , even Mrs. McCall a little and I can’t… I can’t _stand_ it.”

            He surprised himself with how vehemently he spoke those last words. Generally, he tried to push down these feelings, to try and convince himself that he liked them, of course he liked them, everyone liked them. They were Joe and Nancy. Nancy sang songs to herself and Joe clapped when he laughed and they spent their days finishing each other’s sentences and smiling at one another and-

            They reminded him of his parents.

            The revelation hit him like a brick and he was glad his hand was still covering his face because suddenly there was a burning behind his eyes and he thought maybe he was about to cry.

            Honestly, he didn’t remember much about his parents. His mom had died when he was barely ten, over ten years ago now and he hadn’t seen his dad in over seven and so he didn’t have a lot of source material to go on. But he remembered that they were in love, that his mom sang even though she had a terrible voice and his dad liked winking at Stiles before grabbing her from behind and spinning her into a dance and-

            Fuck.

            Talking about this was such a mistake.

            He probably wouldn’t have even _realized_ this if he hadn’t stupidly chosen to open up about it. Like a goddam moron.

            “I hate it,” he repeated, unable to stop, hoping his voice didn’t give away how close to the edge he was. “They try to say that missions are too dangerous or tell me I should stay home or try to fucking get _Scott_ to keep me here and it’s just _annoying_ and they’re _not_ my parents. They don’t even _know_ me and-”

            Derek’s hand on his wrist was feather light but Stiles felt his hand being dragged away from his face anyway.

            He blinked furiously. He could do this. He wasn’t crying.

            Derek had rolled to his side and he managed to meet Derek’s eyes for all of a second, only long enough to see that they were grave and maybe a little damp themselves and-

            “They remind me of them,” Stiles admitted in a whisper even though he hadn’t meant to say that. He meant to keep the focus on the over-protective thing. “Of my par-”

            He stopped. Took a slow shuddering breath. And then another.

            He should stop thinking about this. He should go back to thinking about the noises Derek made when Stiles settled on top of him or the way his whispered Stiles name when he was about to come or the way he kissed Stiles as if Stiles was important.

            “Stiles, I-” Derek started and then stopped, clearly at a loss for what to say. Stiles didn’t blame him. He didn’t know to say either.

            He’d never had this problem before. People didn’t try to mother him. Except for Mrs. McCall obviously but she didn’t push too hard and Scott was usually there to stop her and she was _different_ , she was allowed to be concerned. Despite their age, Simon and Dee were young and constantly bickering and treated Stiles like an equal, not a child.

            And Jenny… Jenny was calm and quiet and nothing like either of his parents had been. When he’d first come to the Hales, she hadn’t liked or trusted him right away. She’d spent the first few months annoyed by him and somehow that was comforting. Jenny only loved him when she _knew_ him, when he’d earned it. And she didn’t push or pull him into hugs he didn’t want and even now, she never nagged. Her worry was contained in small little frowns that Stiles knew how to chase away.

            When he thought of Jenny, he thought of only Jenny and Stiles loved her for that.

            “We don’t have to go over there anymore,” Derek said.

            Stiles hoped his laugh was only hysterical on the edges.

            “Yes, we do,” he replied. “Scott loves them. Mrs. McCall _lives_ with them.”

            Derek’s frown deepened. “We still don’t have to go,” he repeated stubbornly and it made Stiles smile if only for a moment. It reminded him of old Derek, the Derek who lurked on the edges of the kitchen, awkward and out of place but still there.

            “Derek, it’s not like we can tell them all this,” Stiles said, focusing on the unhappy twist of Derek’s mouth and the way his eyebrows dropped lower. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. There was nothing that could be done to change it. No way to fix it. “And believe me, you run out of excuses.”

            “I’ll think of some,” Derek promised and it was then that Stiles noticed that Derek’s fingers were tracing a pattern against his wrist. He opened his eyes to watch and for absolutely no reason that he could name, it made Stiles feel…

            It made him feel like he was close to the edge again and it would be okay to tip over. It would be okay to turn and bury his face in Derek’s shoulder and cry.

            Before he thought about the option for too long, he pulled his wrist away, gently but firmly. Because he didn’t _want_ to do any of those things. He didn’t have time for it. He was okay.

            “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean… I’m complaining that people are too _nice_ to me. I’ll live.”

            He would. He would get over this.

            “Do you want to talk about them?” Derek asked suddenly. And when Stiles looked over in confusion, Derek was staring at him head-on in the way that only Derek could. “Your parents.”

            “No,” he replied quickly. They shouldn’t be talking about this. They should be enjoying the fact that they’d just had something sort of close to sex.

            Besides, he couldn’t remember much anyway. Hell, he probably knew more about Derek’s mother than his own. And that was based off of approximately ten interactions and three letters.

            The fact that one of those interactions had involved a whip, blood, and wordless screams of pain certainly didn’t make him feel any better about that fact.

            “Could we just… go to sleep?” he asked, suddenly feeling exhausted.

            “Of course,” Derek said after a moment but when he moved to roll over to face the wall as he always did, Stiles found himself reaching out and curling his hand against Derek’s wrist.

            Derek stilled instantly and stayed on his back until Stiles rolled over, putting his back to Derek but pulling the werewolf with him until he was forced to his side as well.

            Without thinking about it, Stiles placed Derek’s hand carefully on his hip and Derek didn’t move closer so it remained the only point of contact between them. And the weight was comforting instead of constricting and when Derek cautiously moved his fingers, again tracing that odd pattern that seemed to consist of three spirals, Stiles felt his eyes closing.

            He meant to say something. To thank Derek for being so patient, to apologize for making such a great night so depressing, to promise to enjoy the afterglow more next time.

            But instead he was asleep before Derek’s finger finished the third spiral.

**End Part V**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings:** Panic Attack, Misconceptions about sexual acts, shame and frustration; basically, Derek and Stiles move forward with their relationship in this chapter so that stirs up some negative associations for Stiles. (Generally, it ends happily though!)
> 
> Okay, I hope you enjoyed the chapter/thought it was believable (which, I know is a weird thing considering this is a fictional story about werewolves, but you know what I mean). I consider myself the opposite of an expert when dealing with some of these heavier issues so I apologize in advance if you thought something was unrealistic. I also recognize that this Stiles may have traveled a bit far from Cannon Stiles, but I hope you still like him. I guess that goes for all the characters.
> 
> Alright, I'm afraid I also have to announce some bad news. Unfortunately, this story will be going on a brief hiatus. Put simply, the holidays are a horrid time for writing for me as I was on vacation and now I'm with my family and I've got friends visiting for a week after Christmas. Also, I have two papers due for grad school on the 6th that I just haven't done.
> 
> So, I am SO SORRY, but I need to step back for a bit. Also, the plot is about to take off and I want this story to be good. Trying to cram it in and rush it would not result in good writing. Thus, the break. I plan on it being about a month long, so you should expect updates to resume in late January/early February. 
> 
> Again, I am so sorry. I know this is breaking my promise. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.
> 
> Anyway, not writing completely would make me a very sad person, so I will probably be posting some little ficlets on my  tumblr if you would like to check those out to tide you over. Or if you would like to ask any questions or yell at me, that's fine too!
> 
> Okay, so sorry about the break but Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Have a Chill end of December! And Happy New Year!


	6. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Sorry for the long break but thank you to everyone who was so nice about it!
> 
> I'll save the longer notes for the end.
> 
>  
> 
> **Detailed warnings at the end as well.**

**Part VI**

            The door opened with an almost silent click and Lydia knew before even turning that it was Stiles.

            Because there were only two people who dared to enter the library without asking and Scott… well, Scott threw doors open as if he was already inside and actually getting in was merely an afterthought.

            Stiles, on the other hand, entered every room as if he were sneaking into it. She’d seen him do the same with the door to his own cabin.

            Of course, he never managed to sneak up on her.

            “Your boyfriend isn’t here,” she said, deciding it wasn’t worth looking up from the stack of papers in front of her just to watch his face fall in disappointment. “Isaac wanted him to help with some building something or other.”

            “I know,” Stiles replied and Lydia blinked as she looked up and-

            Oh.

            This wasn’t going to be the ridiculously happy Stiles that had been stumbling in the past month, blatantly lying about needing his werewolf for something important while really just sneaking outside to make out for a while.

            This wasn’t even going to be the semi-serious, mostly-distracted Stiles who managed to bring her reports and write-ups even though he still, after hearing her arguments for going on four months now, didn’t quite see why he had to give her the details on his missions.

            This was _focused_ Stiles. This was the Stiles she saw most frequently at Headquarters,  more often than not arguing with Scott about something. This was the Stiles that figured out what she was trying to say before she finished and then explained it to Scott. The Stiles that came up with plans and then executed them. This was the Stiles who, Lydia suspected, probably coordinated Isaac’s sudden need of Derek so that he could talk to her alone.

            This was Lydia’s favorite Stiles.

            She always had appreciated a challenge.

            “So,” she said and then faded off, raising an eyebrow. She knew she didn’t need to ask why he was here. This Stiles didn’t appreciate pleasantries any more than she did.

            “The Argents,” he said simply, crossing the room to sit down. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

            She frowned. Somewhere along the four or so months that she had been living in Beacon Hills, she had accepted that her loyalties lay with Scott- even if he was overly idealistic and completely incapable of keeping up with her intelligence. Frankly, she was too smart for them to remain with Gerard. She could recognize an extremist when she saw one and she had studied enough history to know that rampant hatred wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

            Gerard’s future resulted in violence and even she had to acknowledge that werewolves were stronger, faster, and generally harder to kill than humans. So only an idiot would somehow think that some kind of human-werewolf _war_ was a reasonable answer to slavery. And Lydia was not an idiot.

            However, the Argents had housed and fed her for two years before they ever set foot in Beacon Hills and Kate had taught her some nasty hand-to-hand combat tricks that you couldn’t learn in a book and Allison was her best friend so airing all the Argents’ dirty laundry wasn’t generally something she appreciated being expected to do. It felt too much like spying.

            And Lydia Martin was no spy.

            Stiles had seemed to understand her position instinctively and though there were times when he seemed unhappy with it, he usually didn’t pressure her too often. Hence, her frown. She had to remind him that this question was unacceptable.

            Of course, she was also frowning because at this moment, she actually didn’t know anything.

            “They’re up to something,” Stiles said, meeting her gaze head on. “I need to know what.”

            “What makes you say that?” Lydia asked, though she turned from her work completely.

            If Stiles wanted her help then he was going to have to share what he knew.

            “Because we just allowed a _werewolf_ to join Beacon Hills.”

            “Maybe they’re fine with it,” Lydia replied, making a show of looking disinterested.

            Stiles’ laugh was a cold, bitter bark and it reminded her of the unfortunate consequences of Focused Stiles. Because while Lydia loved this Stiles, loved his sharpness and cleverness and almost uncanny ability to read people, there was a darkness to him as well. If handled incorrectly, this Stiles drifted towards a hardness and hatred that would be similar to Gerard except it wasn’t directed exclusively to werewolves.

            It was directed to threats. Threats against Beacon Hills, threats against the people he cared about, and, above all, threats against Scott.

            Lydia didn’t have the tools to push the darkness back. She didn’t have Scott’s goofy playfulness that she had seen employed thousands of times since her arrival. She didn’t have Mrs. McCall’s blend of concern and disappointment. She certainly didn’t have Derek’s ridiculous eyebrow expressions that must somehow communicate cuteness to Stiles even when he was frowning.

            So she settled for a glare that she hoped conveyed the message that such behavior would not be allowed in her library.

            “They’re not fine with it,” Stiles said and he looked unaffected by her glare. “Gerard did all but declare his intention to murder us all when Derek joined the pack.”

            “He wouldn’t dare kill me,” Lydia said but she sat down across from him because Stiles was right. She was actually surprised it had taken him this long to come see her. “What do you know?”

            “Know?” Stiles echoed, running one hand down his face and seeming to relax slightly now that it was clear Lydia was going to take this seriously. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

            Lydia stayed silent, allowing the disbelief to show on her face.

            In her experience, for all that he was an idiot boy who had the worst handwriting she had ever seen and whose reports were ridiculously poorly written, Stiles rarely knew _nothing_.

            “They hate Derek,” Stiles said, leaning towards her. “They hate Scott for letting Derek stay. Gerard spent the first week he was here trying to get people to join him in getting some sort of petition together to kick Derek out completely but only a few people joined – all from the list so no real surprise there.”

            Lydia nodded. She knew about the list Stiles kept of people he considered dangerous to Scott, if not the names of everyone on it. She suspected her name had been on it for the first month that she’d lived in Beacon Hills. She would be offended if it weren’t.

            “He gave up fairly quickly though,” Stiles continued. “Too quickly. I’m not even sure he was really trying that hard. Danny said he didn’t even try to recruit him and most people think Danny is fairly neutral. And he works with Chris a lot for all the tech stuff.”

            Lydia nodded. Danny had been at Beacon Hills for almost three years, having been one of those that Talia Hale bought and then immediately freed. Rumor had it that he had been sold as a result of his experiments with sound emitters made from parts his stole from his owners. Upon arrival, he had set to tinkering with plumbing, electric and a thousand other small projects that made life easier. It made him incredibly well-liked by even the old timers and a valuable bridge between the factions of Beacon Hills.

            Stiles was right to think it was strange that Gerard didn’t even try to convince Danny about the dangers of Derek. Danny certainly liked Scott and Scott liked him, but that’s how Danny was with everyone. He wasn’t part of the inner circle. And he certainly was useful enough that the Argents should be bending over backwards to try to convince him to join their side.

            “So I think all that bluster was for show,” Stiles concluded. “They must be planning something else. Something bigger.”

            Lydia didn’t disagree.

            “Goals?” She asked. It was often the first question that arose when she and Stiles planned like this. Start from the end.

            “Kill all werewolves everywhere,” Stiles said. “Or possibly enslave them. I think they’d be fine either way.”

            Stiles’ eye were alight with something like his usual humor so Lydia settled for a small huff of annoyance that could have passed for amusement.

            “Fine,” Stiles said. “Kill Derek. Take power from Scott. Leave Beacon Hills?”

            He made the last one a question.

            “No,” Lydia shook her head. “There’s been no talk of leaving.” She’d actually been a bit surprised by that herself. Especially as the first two months they were in Beacon Hills, leaving had been a fairly regular dinnertime debate.

            “And they haven’t mentioned anything else?” Stiles pressed and Lydia gave in because this was important. And because there wasn’t anything.

            “No,” she admitted. “It’s been tense, especially because I think Chris knows Allison is still seeing Scott but… nothing, really.”

            She frowned. It was weird. Generally, she tried to avoid the politics of the camp, preferring to deal with more legitimate matters such as whether or not they would have enough food to eat rather than which idiots were whining more than usual. But…

            Stiles was right to think that this could be dangerous.

            “Damn,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “I hoped you knew something. Everyone else I’ve talked to doesn’t know anything either.”

            “There must be something,” Lydia said, more to herself than to Stiles.

            “The only thing that I can think of is that Chris and Kate were really far away from camp when they picked up me and Derek,” Stiles said. “Like, over two hours away. There’s no real reason they should have been out that far.”

            “Were they hunting?” Lydia asked. Allison ran point on most of the hunting missions but all the Argents helped out occasionally. And there had been a fair bit of pressure to bring back more food with most produce done for the winter.

            “Maybe,” Stiles said. “I mean, Kate had her crossbow and Chris had the gun- though he would obviously never waste bullets on animals. I guess they could have been hunting.”

            “But you don’t think so,” Lydia said. Stiles sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Over the past four months, Lydia had learned that Stiles instincts were usually right when it came to these things.

            “If they were hunting, why wasn’t Allison with them?” Stiles asked.

            “Maybe because she knew you were supposed to be getting back soon,” Lydia suggested. Stiles scoffed at her as if she had made a joke. Lydia frowned. That was another unfortunate consequence of Focused Stiles. He never seemed to value himself as much as others did. Lydia knew for a fact that it drove Scott crazy. _Everyone_ knew it drove Scott crazy. Scott was easier to read than a children’s book.

            “I’ll have to make an excuse to head up there,” Stiles declared, drumming his fingers against the tables. His eyes went distant and she knew he was already thinking of different reasons he could give to make the trip without drawing attention to himself. He’d probably manage to make it a useful mission as well.

            “You do that,” she said. Then, because she thought he was right and the fact that Gerard’s rants had gotten shorter rather than longer was concerning to her too, “I’ll keep an eye on the Argents as well.”

            The smile of gratitude he sent her didn’t have Scott’s wonder-filled warmth but it’s quick appearance carried a measure of respect that Lydia knew was hard to come by.

            “Alright,” Stiles said after a moment of silence. He stood and stretched, glancing around. “You good here? Do you need anything? Paper? Pens?”

            “I’m fine for now,” she replied, nodding in acknowledgement. She knew that Stiles made her needs a priority. The last time she had requested folders and binders, he had returned after only a week with a scrape along his jaw and a book bag stuffed to the brim with folders and a duffel full of binders. She had been grateful enough that for once she didn’t complain about his report which merely read: _Stole it._

            “Okay,” Stiles said. “Let me know.”

            “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from other people as well,” Lydia said, reaching for the report she had been working on. She had work to get back to. Especially since Stiles had stolen Derek. Who was turning out to be a passably good assistant most days.

            “Oh!” Stiles said, whirling back to face her, flailing in the way that only Stiles could flail. “I’m supposed to tell you to tell Allison that Scott will be working with Greenberg to design the interior of the school immediately after dinner tonight. And he might head over early.”

            “Since when do I have to help plan their rendezvous?” Lydia said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and standing once more. Even before Derek’s arrival, Chris hadn’t been overjoyed with his daughter dating anyone, which resulted in what Lydia considered to be a bit of over-cautious sneaking around. It wasn’t that Chris forbid the relationship explicitly, but he certainly expected Allison to be asleep in her own bed every night and seemed to think interactions should be limited to public areas during the day.

            Despite Lydia’s advice, Allison had decided that sometimes it was easier to conduct certain _meetings_ with Scott privately. Scott had bowed to her wishes immediately, going so far as to force Stiles enough to deliver messages back and forth between the two. Lydia had never seen the point and never participated. She had more important things to do.

            “Well, normally I would tell her myself but…” Stiles shrugged. “Not sure she’s actually talking to me.”

            Stiles was clearly trying to sound like it didn’t matter even though it obviously did.

            “Don’t be stupid,” Lydia said. “Of course, she’s talking to you. Go tell her yourself. Or, better yet, get Scott to go tell her himself. All this sneaking around is ridiculous.”

            Not as ridiculous as it had been, not now that Chris had explicitly forbidden Allison to see Scott as he was a “werewolf-sympathizer” but still. Lydia refused to be a part of it.

            “Yeah, well,” Stiles said, waving a hand.

            “I’ve told her she should talk to Derek,” Lydia added softly because she hadn’t missed how Stiles’ face had fallen as the conversation turned to Allison. She knew that Stiles would care more than he let on.

            “Right,” Stiles said, but he was already moving towards the door.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles huffed, blinking in irritation at the pile of papers in front of him before reaching for a pen with the thought that maybe underlining things would help him think.

            Of course, he couldn’t find a pen right away and he actually went so far as to start moving papers around before remembering he had one tucked behind his ear. And one in his mouth.

            He frowned at himself, curling his hand into a fist. He wasn’t concentrating well today. And he should be. He had planned it all out with the intention of focusing and figuring this out and he could do this. He’d arranged for conversations alone with almost all those people who had interactions with the Argents on a regular basis (but would still talk to him) and he had… almost nothing to show for it.

            Well, not nothing. He had Danny’s admission that Kate had asked for some extra electrical equipment – Stiles had the details but he didn’t know much about the mechanics of building different things and Danny had said they could be used for almost anything. He had Lydia’s knowledge that leaving Beacon Hills wasn’t on the table (which, if it weren’t for Allison, would actually be his greatest hope). And, finally, he had Deaton’s report which included that Gerard had stocked up on non-perishable food items, which would be a good deal more interesting if the Argents weren’t _constantly_ stocking up on non-perishable food items.

            Stiles was pretty sure that when Kate went hunting without Allison, she kept and salted a portion of the meat for herself. It was one of the things he had been trying to prove before he’d left on the recon mission that resulted in an unplanned trip to the Hale house, Derek, and, unfortunately, bigger issues to deal with when regarding the Argents.

            They were up to something. Stiles could feel it in his bones. And, worse, he knew that he just didn’t have enough information to figure it out. There were gaps that he could sense but couldn’t fill and-

            His dad would be so much better at this. It was one of the primary things that Stiles remembered about him. His dad was constantly figuring out what the Levy’s were up to. He managed to predict when they were going to have random cottage inspections based on when different overseers were called away to meetings. He warned people when the Levy’s were getting suspicious about the amount of food they were skimming off the top (which was a fairly common practice if you didn’t want to essentially starve to death) based on how many times a werewolf inhaled when talking to someone.

            Neither his dad nor Mrs. McCall had ever admitted to it, but Stiles was pretty sure his father had helped her plan the crime that had gotten Mr. McCall sold within a day.

            The point was, his dad would have figured this out. For someone who never learned to read, he was incredibly organized and just… _good_ at seeing patterns. At knowing things.

            Meanwhile, Stiles was stuck staring at the same three pieces of paper, frowning and hoping that something magically jumped out at him.

            He was alone in their house. He’d convinced Isaac to ask Derek to help him with the heavy lifting phase of raising what was going to be a barn of some sort (partly because Derek’s werewolf strength would really help, partly because most people were ready to accept Derek helping in the daytime rather than just in the early morning, mostly because he had to talk to Lydia alone so Derek wouldn’t stress about this). So Isaac and Derek were probably still at the construction site and Scott was determined to have the school completely finished by the time spring rolled around. Which was good because this was one project he was keeping from Scott. Scott’s relationship with Allison at the moment was fragile at best and Stiles wasn’t going to put any more pressure on it than he already had.

            It was the perfect set-up. Stiles had the house to himself. He had the time and space to spread out and _solve this_ so he could stop them and-

            There just wasn’t enough information. He accepted this was an angry exhale and tossed one of the pens down on his desk.

            The problem with not having enough information was that he wasn’t even sure what information he was _missing_. There were too many different directions to take and not enough time. Did he focus on what electronics Kate was stockpiling? Go back to proving that they were probably hoarding food? Try to figure out what Kate and Chris were doing that far into the woods? Check to see what other supplies they were doubtlessly stealing from Beacon Hills? Go through again and see if they were communicating with anyone else on the list more than usual?

            He just didn’t know what their plan would be. Killing Derek was obvious but wouldn’t take nearly so many supplies, not with Chris walking around with a gun and at least six wolfsbane bullets in his possession. (Stiles had found those the first week the Argents had arrived. The last time he’d checked, which was four days ago, none of them had been moved from the case under Chris’ bed).  

            Besides, killing Derek was pretty much a one-way ticket out of Beacon Hills. Scott would doubtless exile them. Stiles had already accepted that he would do something worse.

            And the good thing about Derek being a werewolf is that only was killing him hard to accomplish, but it would be incredibly obvious. After all, it was fairly hard to make beheading or cutting someone in half look accidental. And wolfsbane poisoning left signs.

            No, after one sleepless night imagining the possibilities while glaring at the door and curling one hand around Derek’s wrist harder than he meant to, Stiles had accepted that Derek was probably safe.

            Killing Scott was Stiles’ second hypothesis. It would be hard, given that Scott was rarely, if ever, alone, but not impossible and the thought had kept Stiles awake for more than one night. But he’d told himself enough times that it just didn’t make sense. Everyone loved Scott. Killing him was not going to make the relatively peaceful town of Beacon Hills decide to rise against werewolves. In fact, if Scott died, they would likely fall into even greater levels of defensive isolation.

            He just didn’t know. And not knowing the goal made figuring out the plan even more impossible.

            He was doodling across one of the pages, idly wondering whether the fact that Chris was offering more self-defense classes and Allison was teaching more people to hunt was something he should be taking into consideration when the door to the cottage opened. He cocked his head, listening, and then felt a smile work onto his face as he realized it was Derek.

            Stiles had memorized the sound of Derek’s walk years ago, back when he listened for it coming down the halls towards the kitchen so that he could try to make up some excuse to leave, back when he tensed and glared and wished like hell that the steps would just continue past without stopping even though they never did.

            Now the sound had him leaning back in his chair and considering taking a well-deserved late afternoon break.

            _No,_ he thought furiously, shaking himself and settling back down. He had work to do. Just because the past four weeks had contained their fair share of mutual hand-jobs (Stiles had even managed to give Derek one first while staying hard a few days ago) and Stiles had learned that Derek had no problem with Stiles just sort of lining things up while he was on top and coming that way, didn’t mean that he was going to just drop everything because he and Derek happened to be home alone in the middle of the day.

            They weren’t Scott and Allison for goodness’ sake. He was more than capable of maintaining focus. Especially because this was important and he had to-

            When Derek opened the door to their room, he was _shirtless_.

            Shirtless and a little sweaty and stretching and-

            “Stiles!” Derek’s voice was startled, as if he hadn’t known Stiles was there. Then Derek followed Stiles’ gaze to where it was fastened on his chest and blushed.

            Stiles probably should be blushing but…

            He had never seen Derek without a shirt on before. Not even though they’d lived together for over a month. Sure, he’d _felt_ Derek’s body underneath clothing before but the act of actually _being_ naked or even close to naked was something that he’d avoided and, as with everything, Derek had followed his lead.

            “Sorry!” Derek said, flushing harder.

            “No,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh- it’s-”

            On some level, he knew that Derek was attractive, that Derek was fit and muscular and that Nancy sometimes laughed and patted his cheek and declared: “What a handsome young man.”

            He knew all that. It’s just… that wasn’t why _he_ was attracted to Derek. He liked Derek because Derek was smart and funny and _good_ and physical appearance hadn’t played much of a role.

            If he thought about it, the oversight made sense. Matt hadn’t been objectively ugly.

            Derek was already turning towards his set of drawers though, doubtless reaching for a shirt or a change of clothes before he went to take a shower. That’s when Stiles saw-

            “Tattoo!” he yelped, standing and reaching for it before he could help himself. “You have a tattoo!”

            He hadn’t even _known_ that. He’d explored Derek’s chest with his hands often enough that he probably would have known if it were there but… Derek was usually on the bottom still. He had never even felt it.

            He didn’t know if he was dismayed or excited that he was just finding out about this.

            And he recognized it. It was the three spirals that Derek delighted in tracing across his skin.

            “Yeah,” Derek said, smiling as he looked over his shoulder and Stiles’ hand started tracing the pattern. “I thought you knew that.”

            “No,” Stiles said, absentmindedly. He was exploring other things that he’d never seen before. The muscles that bunched and pulled at Derek’s shoulder bones, the indentation formed by his spine, the two dips right above his- “I didn’t know werewolves could get tattoos.”

            “It’s harder for us,” Derek said and his voice had gone softer. Hoarse. Stiles told himself he should stop touching if he wanted to stay focused. He had work to do. “We have to get the ink burned in.”

            Reflexively, Stiles’ hand tightened around Derek’s shoulder. Burns fucking hurt. He knew.

            “The pain only lasts a few minutes,” Derek reminded him quietly. “It’s not bad.”

            Stiles hummed to show he was listening, but dropped his head to kiss the center of the pattern anyway before running his nose up the Derek’s spine to place a kiss at the back of his neck.

            Derek’s breath hitched and it was only because Stiles had moved ever closer during his inspection that he felt the werewolf’s hips twitch forward.

            Work could wait.

            He grinned, wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders and plastered himself against him. Then he sucked another kiss onto Derek’s neck because Derek liked that.

            Because they were pretty much the same height, Stiles could drop his chin onto Derek’s shoulder and rest it there, peak over to see Derek’s hands fisted into the shirt he had been pulling out of the drawer.

            He would have to do this more often. It was fun.

            “What is it?” he asked, going for casual even though his voice came out a little tight despite himself. His right hand slide along the top of Derek’s shoulder to tangle in his hair. It was getting long. Lydia would make him cut it before too long

            But Derek tensed slightly beneath him and Stiles stilled his hand, worried that he had said something wrong.

            “It’s for my dad,” Derek said softly. Stiles blinked in surprise but tapped his fingers against Derek’s ear, signifying it was okay to continue.

            He was excited to hear the story. He didn’t know much about Derek’s father. He’d delivered him lunch a few times and the older man had given him a polite nod, if nothing else, and even Stiles’ careful questions when he’d first arrived had failed to uncover that much information.

            It seemed most of the staff was in agreement: William Hale was a soft-spoken, shy man who kept to himself and managed being Talia Hale’s husband by being as calm as a stone.

            “Derek takes after him,” Jenny had said once. “In fact, he’s even more quiet than Derek. So don’t go blathering his ear off when you deliver his food.” That had been funny, at the time, since Stiles wasn’t talking to anyone who wasn’t Scott but at least it helped him decide that “Master William” probably wasn’t a threat. So he’d stopped asking.

            “He, uh,” Derek continued after a moment. “It’s hard to be the Alpha’s mate sometimes especially what you’re naturally as quiet as my dad. And he doesn’t have any of his pack left.”

            “He was an Omega?” Stiles asked, surprised. He’d thought that that was rare.

            “No,” Derek said. “But his pack was small when he left and I think they’ve all died. Or maybe they just didn’t approve.” Derek shrugged. “We’ve never met any of them.”

            “Oh,” Stiles said. “That stinks.”

            “Yeah,” Derek said. “So anyway, the triskelion was the symbol of his old pack so Laura and I got the tattoos as a gift of sorts. To show him that we appreciate him too.”

            Stiles couldn’t stop the small smile that worked itself onto his face. He kissed Derek’s shoulder again to make it go away.

            “Did your mom mind?”

            “Oh, no,” Derek said. “She cried and said they were beautiful.”

            “I’d have loved to see that,” Stiles said with a laugh. In his head, Talia Hale being reduced to tears was unfathomable.

            “Well, it was after she finished yelled at us,” Derek said, chuckling himself. “I was only sixteen when we got them done. We may have forged her signature and paid extra to get them while still underage.”

            Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes. “Such a rebel.”

            “Mhmm,” Derek agreed and then he was spinning in Stiles’ grip, hands letting go of the shirt to slide along Stiles’ hip and-

            Derek’s mouth crashed against his own with slightly more force than usual and Stiles realized with a grin that he was not going to get away with the long teasing touches he’d kept up during Derek’s story.

            That was okay. He hadn’t really wanted to.

            Derek’s lips opened immediately and Stiles’ hands were free to roam across Derek’s skin and he could _feel_ Derek’s muscles as they bunched to pull him closer and he was just about to suggest they take the two steps to the bed when Derek was pulling his mouth away.

            Stiles didn’t let that stop him, just trailed his mouth down Derek’s neck, marveling at how much easier it was when there wasn’t a shirt to stop him and-

            “Stiles,” Derek groaned, one hand squeezing the flesh above Stiles’ hipbone, the one playing with the hem of his shirt. “Can I- Will you-”

            Stiles knew what he was asking and instinct had him moving forward to silence him with a kiss. Because he knew and maybe a part of him wanted but it was all messed up and-

            “Please,” Derek said, pulling away carefully, but he sounded almost desperate and it was the first thing he’d ever asked for.

            He could do this. It was Derek. He _trusted_ Derek.

            Still, the word “okay” stuck in his throat so he settled for taking a step away and reaching for his shirt. He could do this.

            “Let me,” Derek requested quietly and Stiles almost said no, almost stopped this because being undressed meant being undressed _forcibly_ , with careless scratches and cruel pinches and he snatched his hands away from his shirt anyway.

            Then Derek was back in his space, kissing him in the way that had become familiar, all gentleness and restraint.

            It changed like it usually did when they were alone, into something wetter and hotter but still _controlled_ and it wasn’t that Stiles didn’t notice when Derek’s hands curled underneath his shirt and started hitching up, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

            In fact he didn’t care until Derek broke off their kiss and pushed Stiles’ arms up and then suddenly his shirt was up and over his head in one smooth motion.

            He felt his heart skip a beat and knew Derek must’ve heard it because Derek’s eyes were watching his face and he was carefully not moving.

            “Are you okay?” Derek asked.

            “Yeah,” Stiles replied, swallowing. This was Derek. He was okay. “Yeah, you can… look, if you want.”

            Derek held his gaze for a beat more before flicking down and Stiles found himself looking down as well, just to see what it was that Derek was staring at.

            His chest wasn’t bad. There was the old tattoo that would have been touched up if he were still owned by a family that cared about such things. There was a line of burns along the left side of his ribs, four small, perfect circles that Derek had already felt and frowned over. And, of course, there were the claw marks. Still, when he glanced up, Derek was still staring.

            “Can I?” Derek asked after another moment. Again, Stiles didn’t need to clarify what he meant.

            “Sure,” he said, going for casual. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

            That’s what he tried to hold onto as Derek pulled him in for another five-second kiss before carefully moving around Stiles to stand at his back. That Derek had seen it all before. Hell he’d put _lotion_ on Stiles before. This wasn’t a big deal.

            It just seemed like it. When Derek had put lotion on his back almost a year ago, Stiles trusted him to do nothing.

            Now, he was trusting Derek to be careful and not be totally disgusted and to stop if Stiles changed his mind and…

            It was harder now. Than it had been before.

            “I’m sorry,” Stiles managed to say after a long moment. He was sorry. That his body didn’t look like Derek’s. It wasn’t all smooth skin stretched over muscle. It was pale and too thin and… _used._ His back was a mess of scars, some finally faded, some still raised and uneven and they always would be.

            Usually, Stiles didn’t focus on them. It’s not like he could see his own back except for glimpses he sometimes snagged in the mirror. He only knew that they itched as they were healing, ached in the colder weather, and made Scott’s jaw go square whenever he saw them.

            But really, he didn’t care too much. They were just a fact of life, a fact of _him_. The only time he hated them was when other werewolves saw them and got off on tracing or re-opening them.

            And now he found he hated them because Derek must hate them. He must hate all of them, must hate the claw marks most of all, must hate the proof that another werewolf had been there first, must hate all of it, really, and-

            He wasn’t saying anything, just looking, and Stiles was worried, just for a second, that Derek found them too disgusting to even touch, but then Derek’s left hand reached out and curled around his shoulder and his right was-

            Stiles forced himself not to flinch through raw willpower as Derek’s fingertips began carefully tracing each scar.

            “I know they’re ugly,” he said, his eyes sliding shut as if that would make it so Derek couldn’t see. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t worried that Derek’s blunt fingertip would suddenly transform into claws and rip him open, he was just… tense. It was worse than he thought it would be. Even though it was Derek. “We ran out of the cream that’s supposed to help but we should get more so that’s-”

            “Stiles,” Derek interrupted. “I- They’re not ugly.”

            Derek’s tone of voice, firm and a little grumpy, had Stiles opening his eyes again and looking over his shoulder to see him. And something about Derek’s face, twisted into his usual scowl had him smiling.

            “Dude,” he said and it was a relief, how some of the tension that had been in the air evaporated. “They really are. You don’t have to lie just because-”

            “They are not,” Derek said, huffing a little. “Nothing about you could be ugly.”

            Derek said it like that was a simple fact of life.

            Stiles rolled his eyes.

            “Fine,” Derek said, eyebrows raising into a challenge. “I’ll prove it.”

            Stiles was about to ask how on earth Derek planned on _proving_ that the marks across his back weren’t ugly when he was being spun back around and pulled into another kiss and-

            Oh. Skin on skin was good. Skin on skin was _so_ good and Derek’s hands were running up and down his back, not focused on the scars anymore but just on _him_ and when Derek pulled back for just a moment, just to catch his breath, his eyes were tinged with gold.

            Stiles didn’t know what his face looked like but it made Derek smirk, just a little, before tilting his head down, carefully skipping Stiles’ neck, but sucking a firm line of kisses along his collarbone and the whimper that rose from his throat must have sounded different to Derek because he _felt_ Derek smile against his chest.

            Stiles told himself that he took the few steps backwards to lean against the wall because that was just more practical. And energy-saving. It certainly wasn’t because his legs felt like they were about to give out at any moment he thought he could use the extra support. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

            Derek straightened to take one long stride as Stiles’ moved and then he was kissing Stiles on the lips for only a moment, all open-mouthed and desperate before abandoning them in favor of Stiles’ torso once more. It was all licking and sucking and just hints of teeth and Stiles really hoped he wasn’t expected to do anything as he had gone sort of boneless. The only thing keeping him standing was his grip on Derek’s shoulders as the werewolf continued to slide down, only hesitating at the row of burn marks to kiss each one individually and-

            Stiles’ eyes had been closed. He didn’t even think about how awkward it must be to bend that low until Derek suddenly decided to abandon that method and simply thud to the ground.

            On his knees.

            Stiles jerked at the sound, a part of him fully expecting to see that Derek had just slipped or something but Derek’s hands were at his hips, pulling him closer and his mouth was dragging along Stiles’ hipbone and Stiles opened his mouth to protest, or suggest moving to the bed, but apparently the only response he was capable of was tightening his hands so that they were truly digging into Derek’s shoulders. If he weren’t a werewolf, he might have bruises.

            Derek didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it was the opposite. He made a pleased little noise in the back of his throat and nipped carefully at Stiles’ hip and then his hands were sliding inwards to play with the button of Stiles’ jeans and-

            “Don’t!” Stiles all but yelped as he suddenly realized what Derek was going to do. “I mean- you don’t have to do that. Really. Point proven.”

            He knew how awful that was. He didn’t need to put Derek through that just to prove something.

            But Derek’s hands didn’t move from where they were partly tucked into the waistband of Stiles’ pants. Only his right thumb moved to sweep slowly across the skin of his stomach.

            “I want to,” Derek said, looking up. Looking up because he was on his _knees_. “Please?”

            Oh, god, Derek _wanted_ to – and for a moment, that knowledge alone was enough to scramble his brains – but the next he was realizing that  just because Derek wanted to didn’t mean Stiles wanted to. Do it. Or ever would again. But common decency said that he would have to because that was just polite. And fair. And so, he should stop this, should stop Derek from doing this for him when he probably couldn’t even-

            “Stiles,” Derek said. “Stop worrying. I know you don’t want to. But… let me?”

            “You- You’re sure?” Stiles asked. He didn’t get it. Didn’t get why anyone would _want_ to do-

            “Yes,” Derek replied and Stiles must’ve nodded or something because the next moment his pants and underwear were tangled around his knees and Derek took one heartbeat – maybe two at the rate Stiles’ heart was going – to look and then

            “Holy shit,” Stiles gasped. Below him, Derek hummed with amusement and Stiles _felt_ it. “Oh holy shit. Fucking-”

            The thought fluttered across his mind that Stiles could finally understand why people paid for this. But before his thoughts could go too far down _that_ line of thought, Derek’s tongue _moved_ \- slowly, hesitantly, as if he didn’t quite know what he was doing but-

            But it didn’t matter. Fucking hell, nothing mattered.

            Derek’s mouth was warm and wet and he was trying new things, reaching a hand up to hold where his mouth couldn’t reach and when Stiles managed to glance down, Derek’s face was _focused_ , as if studying Stiles’ reactions, what Stiles’ _liked_ was the most important thing in the world.

            Stiles had to look away. His hips were already starting to hitch and he couldn’t do that. _Wouldn’t_ do that and so he had to focus on _not moving_. Derek should put a hand up and hold him back. He should. But one hand was busy and the other was running across his hip but without any force behind it and Stiles opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a breathless gasp.

            And Derek didn’t stop.

            It didn’t take long. One moment, Stiles was letting go of Derek to stuff his fist against his mouth, biting to try and make this last longer and the next he was-

            “Stop,” he said, not wanting to come in Derek’s mouth. Not when they hadn’t even talked about that. Derek obeyed immediately and Stiles saw the concern cross his face for just a moment. Then Stiles was grabbing him, one hand in his hair, one under his chin, yanking him _up_ and Derek’s bare chest slid against him, one hand still wrapped around Stiles’ dick, as he rose and so it wasn’t so much of a kiss as Stiles’ helplessly moaning into Derek’s mouth as he came.

            If he thought his legs felt weak before, it was nothing compared to now.

            “Holy shit,” Stiles said again, still sagging against Derek. “Fucking – gimme a minute. I got you in a minute. Maybe two.”

            He wouldn’t do… _that_ , but he’d made a study in the past few weeks of what motions Derek liked in a hand job and he still had a few tricks up his sleeve and-

            “Don’t need a minute,” Derek grunted. “Don’t worry about it, I can-”

            It was then that Stiles finally noticed that Derek’s right hand had dropped to push down his own pants and-

            “You’re hard,” Stiles realized, and he knew his face was one of complete shock. Blow jobs were humiliating and painful and just trying to think _Doesn’t matter, Relax, Doesn’t matter_ , _Relax_ , loud enough that you couldn’t hear anything. They were preferable to the alternative but only just.

            Derek had said he wanted to but Stiles assumed that that was Derek just being… _Derek_. He didn’t think Derek would actually… enjoy it. He didn’t think that was even possible.

            Derek glancing over at him, his eyebrow slightly raised in judgment. Then he must have caught some of the wonder on Stiles’ face because the judgment was replaced with something soft and sweet.

            “Yeah,” Derek said and people shouldn’t allowed to sound so sincere when they were still jerking up into their own hand. “It was hot.”

            “You’re weird,” Stiles said, mostly to cover the confusion that was curling in his chest. There was something else there too. Something like dismay.

            Derek shrugged and Stiles pulled him forward into a kiss and Stiles realized that he really didn’t care he hadn’t gotten any work done.

           

*^*^*^

 

            A week later, Stiles opened the door to Scott’s room as quietly as he could, still undecided if this would be one of those nights where he actually let himself wake Scott up or if he could just slide down to the floor and sit with his back to the door and be okay.

            He was covered in sweat and his face was wet with tears and his breathing was only even because he forced it to be.

            The nightmare was lingering. He could still feel the pressure of claws holding him down, hear Matt’s laughter floating above him, see the look on Derek’s face as it twisted into a snarl and his eyes flashed blue.

            _But that’s wrong_ , he told himself firmly. Derek’s eyes were gold. Not blue. Matt was the one with blue eyes for some reason. Not Derek. His were gold, gold like the color of her-

            God, no. 

            He closed the door softly behind him and sank to the ground, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself, one hand reaching up to thread through his hair so he could pull and remind himself that he was awake. That it was over. Scott would do that too if Stiles would him up but… he should let Scott sleep. He just needed a moment.

            _“Did I ever tell you about when I was ‘rented out’ to other werewolves?”_

            The voice was loud and mocking in his head and he blinked, trying to force it down. He had to focus on something else. Like something happy or important or-

            Or guilt. He could focus on guilt. Because he’d lied to Derek. He’d snapped awake, not shouting but gasping for breath and Derek was a werewolf so he’d obviously woken up as well, eyes wide and concerned and Stiles had told him that he was fine, that he liked to be alone after a nightmare.

            Which wasn’t exactly true.

            Some nights he liked to be alone, to wander through the woods and remind himself that he was free, that that part of his life was _over_.

            But, really, most nights he wanted to be with Scott.

            Because Scott was his brother and being around Scott was comforting and knowing Scott was safe calmed him down more than anything else ever had.

            To be honest, sleeping in a separate room from Scott had been strange at first. For seven years, they’d shared a room. At times, they’d shared a bed. Or a spot of floor with a single blanket stretched over the two of them. And, back then, it hadn’t even been a hardship. Just something they got used to.

            You could get used to a lot.

            _“It was off and on for about three years. Sometimes for just a night. Sometimes for a month. I was sixteen the first time.”_

            Stiles pulled his hair a little harder and tried to focus.

            The first floor plan of their house had had a single sleeping room, not unlike their room at the Hales. Scott and Stiles hadn’t even thought about doing it differently until Mrs. McCall had pointed out that they didn’t _have_ to share a room anymore. Scott had looked honestly confused and Stiles had felt a moment of alarm but then Isaac had mentioned that it would be great to have his own space again and Stiles had realized that they were both twenty. Twenty and free to have their own rooms and-

            It sounded great at first. Having his own space, having privacy, not having to deal with the fact that now that they had enough different sets of clothing, Scott tended to leave dirty laundry everywhere.

            Of course, the first night after the cabin had been finished, Stiles had laid on his bed, practically panicking over the sense of _alone_ that had swept over him. Which was stupid because he was twenty years old and Scott was just in the next room and-

            _“Stiles?” Scott’s voice filtered through the wall and something in Stiles’ chest eased because Scott sounded just as uncomfortable as Stiles felt. “Stiles, can you hear me?”_

_“Yeah,” Stiles called back, hoping his voice didn’t come out quite as relieved as he felt. “Yeah, I can hear you.”_

_“I think we made these rooms too big,” Scott said. “Like… does your room seem too big?”_

_Stiles laughed and he knew Scott had heard it because Scott’s voice rose slightly as he continued._

_“Seriously, dude,” Scott said. “I’m pretty sure mine has an echo.”_

_“Maybe we just need more stuff in them,” Stiles suggested._

_“We don’t have any more stuff!” Scott said._

_“I could steal us stuff,” Stiles offered._

_“From who?”_

_“Linda probably,” Stiles replied. “She already hates us.”_

_It was Scott’s turn to laugh. “She totally does,” he agreed. “But that’s your fault.”_

Stiles had protested and Scott had argued and they’d talked for another hour before both of them finally fell asleep.

            That was a good memory. He should focus on ones like that.

            Gradually they’d gotten used to it and Stiles did appreciate having his own room for all the reasons he thought he would (except for the hope that Scott’s dirty laundry would stop being all over because Scott was constantly changing everywhere and leaving his clothes wherever they fell).

            Usually Stiles was fine. Usually the knowledge that they could talk through the walls quite easily was enough. Usually Stiles didn’t even think about it anymore.

            _“I- I didn’t know that,” Stiles stammered. His original reasoning for following her had flown out of his head. He was suddenly too hot and confused and-_

_“Of course not,” the reply was biting. “It’s not something you tell people. It’s not something you think about. You ignore it and push it down and you keep it your little secret. Well, yours and theirs, I guess. You don't talk about it.”_

            It was just in moments like this when his heart was pounding and his hands were still shaking slightly that the distance between them felt unnatural. And he’d almost forgotten that fact because for the five weeks or so that Derek had been here, Stiles had been free of them.

            He told himself that’s why he was so upset. Not because the dream involved Derek or because at the moment, Derek wasn’t registering as _safe_ , but merely because it had happened. And so he knew they would happen again. A part of him had stupidly believed that he was done with them. Done with being forced to replay the worst parts of his life over and over, done with snapping awake with a shout or silently only because he knew to make noise would get him punished, done with loosing nights of sleep and still being _afraid_ to get into bed at night.

            He thought he was done. He thought that Derek had fixed him somehow.

            But he hadn’t. Because that wasn’t how life worked.

            Though, he tried to convince himself, it probably wasn’t because of Derek. It was probably because of this morning, of the conversation that would not stop replaying in a loop in his head.

            _“Then why-” Stiles started but suddenly she was laughing, a cruel, cutting laughter that made Stiles want to turn and walk away._

 _“Because I don’t have to_ explain _things to you, do I?”_

_Stiles froze._

_“No, you already understand. You already know_ exactly _what it’s like.”_

_Stiles’ mouth went dry. She couldn’t know. She was guessing. She was just saying this to get a rise out of him. No one knew._

            Fuck it. He needed to think about something else. He needed Scott. So he stood and moved.

            A part of him was pathetically grateful that Chris Argent insisted on Allison being home every night and sleeping in the room she shared with Lydia. Because that meant that not only was Stiles able to sneak in and just sit if he wanted to, but that the side of Scott’s bed that was closer to the door was open for him to flop down on if he so decided.

            Generally, he let that fall make the decision of whether or not to wake Scott up for him. If Scott woke at the movement, it meant he was well-rested enough that Stiles didn’t feel terrible waking him up. If he slept through it, Stiles knew that he was exhausted and Stiles should just leave it.

            This time, as he thumped his head back against the spare pillow, he felt Scott stir and roll over.

            “Stiles?” Scott said sleepily.

            “Yeah,” Stiles replied and he focused on Scott's voice. On Scott.

            “Walk?” Scott asked, rolling over to face Stiles.

            Stiles considered for a moment. Sometimes just lying next to Scott, who was always, always _safe_ in his mind was enough and he could actually fall back to sleep.

            But-

            _“You know what I'm talking about." Stiles moved to walk away but she grabbed him by the shoulder and he couldn't stop flinching back and she wouldn't fucking stop talking. "Feeling their disgusting breath on you and inside you and having to just lay there and fucking_ let them _and-”_

            Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could stop fucking _thinking_ about it. About her.

            “Yeah,” Stiles said and it was that simple.

            Scott didn’t groan or complain as he sat up and pulled on socks that he grabbed from beneath his bed. He didn’t ask questions or make his own suggestions about what they should do.

            He just put on his coat and grabbed them both an apple and then marched out into the freezing cold as if going for a walk at 4 o’clock in the morning was a completely normal thing to do.

            _“Shut up," he managed and she at least leaned back. He didn't move though. He knew she would just grab him again if he did._

            _“That’s normal for werewolves,” she continued, ignoring him with hard, flat eyes. “That’s what they_ do _because they’re animals. Animals with no soul and I’ll_ always _hate them for what they did to me and I promise you, they’ll regret it. All of them.”_

_Her voice had dropped into something deadly and her eyes were flashing and her hands had curled into fists and-_

_Just as suddenly, she was leaning back, seemingly calm as she flicked a section of golden hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes moved over his body in a way that was all too familiar before meeting his gaze head on._

            The sun wasn’t up yet but the moon was bright and the paths were well kept and both of them knew their way through Beacon Hills like the back of their hand.

            The moment the door was closed, Scott launched into a story and Stiles tried desperately to pay attention because if he didn’t, if he allowed his thoughts to drift then-

            _“But, I guess not everyone reacts the same way, huh?”_

            No. He didn’t want to think about it. She was wrong. She had no idea what she was talking about and Derek wasn’t _like_ them and he knew she was wrong.

            On a fundamental level, he knew that she was twisted and- and-

            The conversation still kept playing in his head.

            “Stiles?” Scott spoke up after a few minutes and Stiles realized that he hadn’t been responding to the story at all. Hadn’t even been listening. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles said, shaking his head and looking over at Scott. “Just zoned out for a minute.”

            _“I guess some people_ like _it.”_

“You sure?”

            _He froze, the implications of her words hitting him, not at once, but in waves, and Kate Argent had smiled before turning and walking away._

            “I’m fine.”

            He was fine. He just had to figure out what the Argents were up to. Now more than ever.

            Because if Kate’s conversation proved anything to him, it was that she was onto him.

            She knew he was coming for them.

            _He was still standing there when she turned back, laughing at the expression on his face._

End Part VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: Reference to past non-con, Mention of rape, Nightmares, Description of Rape, Purposeful triggering of rape-victim, Kate is not very nice**
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so I have up through chapter 9 written and I believe there will be 11 chapters. So hopefully that was the last long hiatus. Expect weekly updates or sooner until the end. (I know I said I wasn't going to post until I was done, but I'm having a stressful day and posting is fun so... whatever!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! All comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> Oh, also, my  tumblr has become populated with all the mini-fics I did over my hiatus if you would like to check it out- just click fic list!


	7. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 6! Glad you enjoyed it.
> 
>  
> 
> **There are no specific warnings for this chapter.**

**Part VII**

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping that Stiles would be in the cottage alone as he headed in for a midafternoon snack. In fact, his true purpose in swinging by at all was to see if Stiles was there. Otherwise he would have just grabbed something from Joe and Nancy’s, which was on the way from the build site to Lydia’s. He tried to see them as much as possible because they were always overjoyed to see him (seriously, the one time that he had been busy for five days and then came in, Nancy had _cried_ a little bit) and Scott or Stiles must have given them a list of foods he loved because they were always stocked with his favorites. Also if he went when Stiles was busy, it seemed to lower the pressure they put on the pack to come over for dinner. Plus, he knew that they had just made a pot of stew that was to _die_ for, if Isaac was to be believed, but…

            But he wasn’t going there because he wanted to see Stiles.

            Stiles had been gone when he woke up this morning and, unfortunately, Derek didn’t know if that meant that Stiles had at least managed to sleep until five thirty or six or if, once again, he was up and moving whenever he woke up from a nightmare.

            Derek hated it. He hated that, with his new schedule of helping out Isaac and the other builders more and more, he was sleeping soundly enough that unless Stiles woke up screaming, he was likely to sleep through it entirely. And he hated that it seemed to Derek that Stiles was becoming more and more likely to wake silently, even if he _was_ having a nightmare. He hated that the second time, he’d woken to Stiles’ gasps of shock and pain and tried to help, Stiles brushed asides his concerns with a shaky smile and a _“They’re not a big deal, Der. I’ve dealt with them practically my whole life. Go back to sleep.”_

            When he finally asked bluntly, finally pushed, Stiles looked him in the eye and told him the nightmares weren’t because of him. And he wasn’t lying. At least, not enough to set his heart jumping. But that just meant that Stiles _did_ know why they were happening again and Derek hated that for some reason, Stiles wouldn’t tell him. But asking had gotten him nowhere.

            _“Derek,” Stiles said, for the first time looking a little annoyed. “It’s not your fault so don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”_

            And so he’d stopped asking. And they’d stopped talking about them.

            Except for one final question that he’d asked just as Stiles rose to leave.

            _“Am I-” he stopped and cleared his throat. “Am I in them?”_

The silence that followed still haunted him.

            That had been two weeks ago and things were still… well, not tense. Tense would imply anger or frustration and there wasn’t that. It was more that Derek knew there _must_ be something he could do and he felt guilty that he couldn’t figure it out and Stiles was trying so hard to seem like everything was fine even though he was exhausted. Derek could smell it on him. He wasn’t sleeping well and he was working too hard and even after finally admitting to Derek that he was looking into the Argents, he wouldn’t let Derek _help_.

            And Derek knew there were good reasons for that. The people that Stiles was trying to pump for information weren’t 100% on board with a werewolf hanging around and after listening to Stiles’ theories on what they could be up to, Derek had realized that he had absolutely no talent for scheming or plots or anything requiring some degree of subtly.

            Still, he’d made Stiles laugh with some of his questions and suggestions and they’d quickly been distracted in a way that was becoming less and less common.

            So he was trying for it again. Not necessarily the distraction part, but the part where he and Stiles could relax and talk and just _be_ for a little while. The part where Stiles’ smiled at him and he smiled back.

            He grinned a little just thinking about it, telling himself that even if Stiles’ wasn’t in the house (he never could tell with Stiles, despite the pack bond), maybe he would risk Lydia’s wrath and go looking for him.

            When he got close to the cabin, he could hear movement inside, not Scott or Isaac and he pulled the door open with every intention of-

            Allison.

            Allison Argent was standing practically in the doorway, clearly about to leave when Derek barged in. She gasped and moved back a few paces, her hand flying to a knife at her belt and Derek froze.

            For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Derek had obviously seen her before, back when he first came to Beacon Hills, and dozens of times since then. It was a fairly big camp but it wasn’t _that_ big. He’d seen her coming and going from hunting missions, he’d smelled her in the cabin after she and Scott tentatively resumed their relationship despite disapproval. A handful of times they’d even been in the same room for a moment, such as when she dropped in to eat lunch with Lydia or came up to headquarters when Derek happened to be visiting.

            But they’d never been alone. And usually one of them made a quick exit on all the other occasions. Despite Scott’s sad puppy eyes and Lydia’s exasperated eye rolls, they’d never talked.

            _She must be here to see Scott_ , Derek realized. That made sense. The two often met here when they could both sneak away.

“Uh… Scott’s not here,” Derek said stupidly. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere near the cottage. Derek’s sense of pack put Scott out closer to the fields all day.

            This close, she reminded him of Laura. Not only because she had the same dark hair and deep brown eyes, but because the same confident power lurked behind them. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t joined the pack yet. Maybe she was technically the Alpha of the Argents. Or would be.

            “I know,” she said briskly, seeming to have recovered from her own shock. “I was just leaving a note.”

            “Oh,” Derek said. Frantically he tried to think of something to say. Allison was important. For all intents and purposes, she was Scott’s _mate_ and Scott was the _Alpha_ and so…

            They had to get along eventually. Scott seemed certain that they would, that Derek was awesome and Allison was awesome and awesome people just got along but-

            But Allison was glaring at him with open suspicion and for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say.

            “Um… Scott’s over with Deaton, I’m pretty sure,” he finally said and then realized abruptly that he was still blocking the door. Hurriedly he stepped in and to the right, trying to give her room. “At least, I know he’s by the fields. If you wanted to go talk to him.”

            He winced, positive the tips of his ears were pink. That was a stupid thing to say. Her dad had forbidden the relationship entirely. Because of him.

            “How did you know-?” Allison started and then clamped her mouth shut. “Oh, right. Werewolf. You know where everyone is.”

            “No,” Derek said quickly. “Only the pack. And only… generally. And Scott’s the easiest cause he’s the Alpha.”

            Lydia was also fairly easy. Stiles was practically impossible. As was Deaton.

            “He’s not an Alpha,” Allison snapped. “He’s a human.”

            “That doesn’t matter,” Derek said. Maybe that’s why Allison was mad. Maybe she thought that Derek was trying to turn Scott into some kind of werewolf. Or that he already had. “I mean… humans can be Alphas too.”

            “Whatever,” Allison said, rolling her eyes and taking a step towards the door. In a moment she would be gone and Derek couldn’t help but feel that he was failing some sort of test. This was the first time they had been alone and surely there was something he could say that would make her at least not hate him.

            “I’m sorry,” he blurted impulsively. Honestly, it was the only thing he could think of. She was mad and he needed her not to be and so- he was sorry.

            “For what?” she asked, spinning to look at him. Her scent was all suspicion again.

            It was a good question.

            “Uh… I don’t know,” he admitted, shifting. “For… being a werewolf I guess.”

            It’s what made things complicated. It made her father angry and Scott have to be an Alpha and-

            “God,” she spat, throwing her hands in the air. “You don’t even know what that _means_.”

            “I-”

            “Look,” she said, eyes flashing. “I know everyone likes you and I get that you’re… you’re _here_ now and you probably aren’t going to start killing people any time soon but-

            “But that doesn’t mean you actually _care_ about human freedom.”

            Derek blinked. Opened his mouth to say something, maybe to protest but she didn’t give him a chance.

            “You care about _one_ person. Stiles. Fine, maybe more than Stiles at this point. Maybe your whole, little… _pack_ but that doesn’t change the fact that the only reason you’re here is because you happened to have a crush on a slave. For the first twenty years of your life, you did absolutely nothing even though slavery was _all around you_.”

            She took a step closer.

            “This is- this is just a little _adventure_ for you. You can leave whenever you want. You can go home, back to your wonderful, soft, _easy_ life and there's no reason to think that you won't. You didn’t care before and you probably won’t care forever and so just-

            “Don’t expect me to trust you,” she said, her eyes narrow slits. “Because I don’t.”

            She stepped back, moving towards the door before turning with one last look of disgust.

            “And I certainly don’t have to like you.”

            She slammed the door on her way out, which wasn’t a bad thing because all Derek could do was stand there, speechless.

 

*^*^*^

 

            “I just need a little more information,” Stiles said, leaning back in the chair by his desk so only the back two legs were on the ground. He fully expected Derek’s leg to lash out and push it right back up again but when he glanced over, Derek was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring mutely at a point over Stiles’ head.

            He wasn’t paying any attention but Stiles couldn’t blame him. About a week ago, he’d finally admitted to Derek he had suspicions about the Argents, that Derek needed to be careful and since then, he may have given this same speech three or four times.

            “Maybe I could stalk them,” Stiles pondered, stifling a yawn. It was after dinner – not yet late – but the sun was down and his body seemed to be screaming for sleep. He’d rather not give into it. Not yet. “For like a week. Well, a week for Kate. And then Gerrard for a week. Then Chris? He doesn’t strike me as totally crazy but you never know. Allison? There’s just no way to tell who’s involved, you know? It could be one of them or all of them or-”

            “Allison’s not,” Derek said quietly. Stiles frowned.

            “What?”

            “Allison’s not involved in anything.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I talked to her today,” Derek said and he didn’t sound happy. He sounded… quiet and maybe sad and, not for the first time, Stiles wished that he had a werewolf’s ability to smell emotions because Derek’s frown wasn’t one that he immediately recognized. “She didn’t smell- I mean, I just don’t think she knows anything about what her family is doing.”

            “Well, that’s good news,” Stiles said, breathing an internal sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought she would be, but he didn’t know how the divide between family and boyfriend worked. He was just thankful he never had to choose. “What did you guys talk about?”

            “Nothing really,” Derek lied, shrugging. “I just ran into her when I swung back here for a snack between helping Lydia and Isaac. She was leaving a note for Scott.”

            Stiles hesitated, knowing that Derek was hiding something but not sure really how to pry it out of him. Or if he was supposed to pry it out of him.

            He opened his mouth and then closed it again, wondering idly what to say. His instinct was to put Derek in a better mood by trying to get him to laugh or smile or maybe go for a kiss but Derek always seemed willing to do more for him. Derek was willing to sit and listen to him or go on walks and say nothing or distract him when he wanted to be distracted.

            Sometimes, Stiles wondered what on earth he did to deserve Derek.

            All he knew was that he had to make him feel better. Somehow.

            “Okay,” he said slowly, trying to identify the problem. “Well, she didn’t try anything with you, right?”

            Scott’s girlfriend or not, he wouldn’t have her hurting Derek. Or threatening him. If she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Derek was part of _Scott’s_ pack because she had been convinced somehow by her stupid, crazy family then Stiles was going to-

            “No,” Derek said quickly, cutting off Stiles’ train of thought. “No, it’s not that she just-“

            He stopped, fist clenching. The silence dragged for a beat and Stiles was just about to say something when Derek continued, voice tight and quiet and unsure.

            “She just said that the only reason I even care about humans is because of you.”

            Stiles blinked.

            “Oh,” he said, feeling a bit lost. He expected a threat or some prejudiced comment about werewolves or something like that. This was just simply a case of Allison being misinformed. Derek’s whole family cared about slaves. They treated them well and freed them and, fuck, they were the ones who started Beacon Hills in the first place. Even before Stiles, Derek was friends with Jenny and Deaton and- “Well, that’s not-”

            “Don’t say it’s not true!” Derek interrupted, standing abruptly. Stiles leaned away instinctively even though Derek’s anger was clearly directed at himself. Derek still caught the motion and stilled immediately. The next words came out softer but still scorching. “It is true. I mean the only reason I even know anything _real_ about slavery or humans is because of you. Because I happened to run into you and then wanted to help you because you were funny and interesting and needed help and I’m probably not even a good person. Just another stupid, fucking were-”

            “Derek!” Stiles said, standing, interrupting because Derek was _wrong_ and he didn’t- couldn’t- “Of course, you’re a good person. You’re one of the best people I know!”

            To be honest, this conversation (if you could even call it that) wasn’t making that much sense to Stiles. How could Derek think he was a bad person? Derek was the guy who bought a defiant, practically worthless slave _and_ his best friend after knowing him for all of two seconds. Derek was the one who’d tried for _months_ to make sure Stiles was okay even when all Stiles gave him in return was anger and distrust. Derek made sure Scott got all the medicine he needed and taught both of them to read and _left his pack to be with humans_.

            “No, I’m not!” Derek said and his eyes actually flashed gold for a moment, though the next, he spun away and starting pacing. And it seemed unnatural. Derek was always so calm. Stiles was the one who had to get up and move all the time. “I spent twenty-two years doing absolutely _nothing_ about slavery. I was friendly with Jenny only because she made me food all the time and I didn’t really know Simon and Dee until I started hanging around to get to know you and I didn’t even know that-”

            He cut off abruptly and Stiles leapt to fill the silence before Derek could get going again.

            “Exactly,” Stiles said. “You didn’t know, Derek. You can’t fix a problem if you don’t even know it exists.”

            “But I should have known!”

            “How?” Stiles asked, voice rising slightly. He was tired and his head was starting to hurt and he couldn’t have Derek thinking this about himself. He couldn’t. Derek wasn’t like other werewolves. Stiles had bet his whole life on it. “Your family treated slaves decently! How were you to know that other werewolves were out there beating and starving and fucking torturing people? How were you supposed to know that?”

            “I could have gone to a slave auction for ten minutes,” Derek snapped. “I could have taken a moment to wonder where it was that we just picked up new slaves or asked my mom about things or asked any one of the dozen or so slaves running around making my life so fucking easy. I could have talked to Jenny or Simon or _Isaac._ God, I _knew_ Isaac and I still didn’t-”

            “You think that would have helped?” Stiles asked, fighting to keep his voice from biting. He didn’t _want_ to fight with Derek. “Jenny doesn’t know, thank _God_ , and Simon and Isaac… they wouldn’t have told you anyway, Derek. No one would have told you.”

            “Because I’m a werewolf,” Derek concluded, and the anger had left his voice, leaving only a muted sadness in its wake.

            “Yes,” Stiles admitted because it was true. Some things you just didn’t tell werewolves. Not even the ones you trusted. “But mostly because _it wasn’t your fault_.”

            “It is though,” Derek said. “At least a little. I’m a werewolf. I grew up in that system. And I _didn’t_ care. Not for years.”

            “Okay, yeah,” Stiles said. “Maybe you were ignorant but that doesn’t make you an awful person. And you changed. You learned. And now you’re working to fix it!”

            That was what mattered. That Derek had seen the horrors of slavery and, sure, maybe he’d started with just Stiles but he hadn’t ended there. He’d befriended Scott and Isaac and everyone in the kitchen staff and then he _let them go_ and now he lived with them. He helped people stand up against slavery every day.

            Over and over again, Derek had proven that he didn’t see himself as better than humans. Maybe he’d been a part of that system but he wasn’t anymore. He’d chosen this side.

            Derek met his eyes for a moment and Stiles thought that maybe it was over, that maybe he’d convinced him. But then Derek was looking to the side, voice tight and tense and-

            “It’s just… what if I had never played that stupid game of hide and seek with Cora? Or what if I’d chosen a different place to hide? What if I had never met you? Or worse, what if I didn’t go down and buy you?” Derek continued. Stiles felt something cold wrap around his chest and he found he couldn’t find his voice to interrupt. Derek didn’t pause, only getting louder as he spoke. “I almost didn’t, you know. And then maybe I would have just kept being an idiot who didn’t really know _anything,_ who just spent his life reading dumb books and family histories, and you would be-”

            “Don’t,” Stiles said and his voice came out weak and unsteady but Derek still cut off as if Stiles had shouted. “Don’t talk about- I can’t think about that.”

            Because he knew where he would be. He would have been bought by someone like Matt if he was lucky, someone who wanted to use him as a personal pet, someone who hopefully gave him at least the basics to survive and some level of freedom when he wasn’t needed. But probably it would have been someone like Brunski, someone who would want to earn back the money he spent buying Stiles by renting him out, someone who would be content to lock him away and never let him see daylight again.

            He wouldn’t have been with Scott. And probably he would have spent the rest of his life eating peanuts every three weeks and he would know that Scott would be working himself into asthma attacks and they both would have tried, would have tried so hard to get sold at the same auction but…

            It wouldn’t have happened. Stiles knew that somewhere in a deep part of his soul. He would be so alone and so lost and maybe the hope of seeing Scott again would have kept him alive but maybe it wouldn’t have because he had watched slaves simply give up and fade before. And his allergy attacks were dangerous and so was Scott’s asthma and Scott never would have gotten medicine and maybe Stiles would have lived but he would never know if Scott was even out there and-

            He didn’t think about that. It was a nightmare that not even his subconscious allowed.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said and Stiles blinked, realizing that he couldn’t say how long it had been. Maybe merely seconds, maybe a long moment of silence. Derek took a hesitant step closer and Stiles threw himself into a hug, shaky from even that brief glimpse into what his future would have been without Derek.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said, curling his arms around Derek’s neck. “Derek, it doesn’t matter what _could_ have happened. What matters is you found me and- and every decision you’ve made since that moment has been the right one.”

            Derek managed to tuck his head into the crook of Stiles’ neck and tightened his arms, squeezing carefully. And Stiles found he didn’t mind the pressure, didn’t mind the reminder that Derek was _here_ , that somehow he had this, had friendship and freedom and-

            “I’m always gonna care,” Derek said, softly but firmly. “This isn’t just- it's not an _adventure_ for me, okay?”

            “Okay,” Stiles said, sensing the echoes of a conversation he hadn’t heard. “I got it. We’re stuck with you. I’ll warn the others.”

            Derek huffed a laugh into his neck. Stiles took it as a good sign.

            “Isaac will be bummed,” he continued. “He was Joe and Nancy’s favorite before you showed up. Now, apparently, it’s all about you. ‘We have to make more cornbread, it’s Derek’s favorite!’, ‘Derek is so polite and kind! What a wonderful young man!’, ‘Derek is just the best thing to happen to this camp!’”

            “Shut up,” Derek muttered but he was smiling. It was good for him, Stiles decided. To hear about how much people loved him.

            “Seriously, even Scott was complaining about it,” Stiles said. “He thinks Nancy has a crush on you. The other day she told Mrs. McCall that you look ‘just like Joe did when he was young!’ Should I be worried? Are you two going to run away and leave Joe and I crying over our loss?”

            “No,” Derek grunted, squeezing harder for a moment. Stiles smiled.

            “Well, then do you think you’ll have as big a stomach as he does when you’re old? If you’re gonna stick around, I need to know how fat you’re gonna get.”

            “Werewolves don’t get fat,” Derek mumbled. “We’re magic.”

            “Sure,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. And then kept talking.

            Eventually, he felt the tension leave Derek’s shoulders and Stiles thought about tilting his head down for a kiss or suggesting they go to bed but it was calm and peaceful and it hadn’t been for a while and so they stood like that for a long time.

 

*^*^*^

 

            “Derek!” Isaac called and from the tone of it, it wasn’t the first time he had done so.

            Derek blinked and straightened, frowning as Isaac jogged over. Was he doing something wrong again? He _thought_ that he was correctly lining up the pegs and planks to fit them together easily but he had had no experience with construction before a few weeks ago and-

            “C’mon, man,” Isaac said. “We’re done for the day.”

            “But,” Derek started. He looked back at the wall that they were supposed to be putting up. The plan was to finish it today and it wasn’t done. They’d been late to get started because of a rare frost and then they’d been slowed by the discovery that a few of the logs they had chosen were rotten and-

            “We’ll finish it tomorrow,” Isaac said with a shrug. He sounded unconcerned. “No point in risking someone getting hurt.”

            Derek tensed. Who was getting hurt? Why?

            “Most people can’t see anymore, Derek,” Isaac said, raising his eyebrows. “The only reason you can is because you went werewolf-eyes twenty minutes ago.”

            Derek startled, changing his eyes back momentarily to realize that it _had_ gotten dark.

            “I can stay,” he said. It wasn’t that late yet, maybe a little past when they usually stopped for dinner because of the delays. Now that he thought about it, he was a little hungry, but he wasn’t _starving_ (not that he ever really would be) and-

            “Nope,” Isaac said, reaching out and grabbing Derek’s arm. “One of the benefits of being a builder is that we get shorter hours in the winter. It’s the rules. Makes up for the long, hot summer.”

            Derek opened his mouth to point out that he hadn’t been there for the long, hot summer and so it was only fair if he work later now, but Isaac pulled harder and kept talking.

            “Besides,” he continued. “Stiles told me to make sure you didn’t work yourself to death and I’m not getting on his bad side. He once hid seven or eight frogs in my room because I _accidentally_ whacked him in the shin with a hammer.”

            “I’m not working myself to death,” Derek muttered and Isaac gave him a look that he must’ve learned from Cora, all disbelief and exasperation and _you’re really gonna try that lie on me?_

            “Right,” Isaac said. “Like I don’t know you’ve spent the last week coming early and trying to stay late and working twice as hard as everyone else.”

            Derek scowled.

            It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Stiles when they’d talked a week ago and Stiles had said that it was okay he hadn’t been fighting for human rights his whole life. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Stiles made good points or didn’t know he couldn’t be held responsible for the suffering of an entire people.

            It was just… he didn’t think Allison was wrong either. Not totally.

            But he didn’t know what to do with that information, there was nothing really do to do except to try to working harder, to help more, to-

            “See!” Isaac said, waving a hand at his face. “Stop frowning! We about to have dinner- it’s the best part of the day!”

            Despite all of it, Derek relaxed a little. Isaac was currently the only person in the camp who could eat more than Derek and, though he had always been tall, he seemed to grow a little bit every day. Cora would barely come up to his shoulder now.

            He said as much to Isaac and Isaac’s face went sort of soft and regretful in a way that Derek appreciated. The conversation turned to Cora and Laura and Derek felt his smile grow into something more genuine.

            Sometimes it was just nice to know that someone missed his family as much as he did.

            “Scott and Stiles still aren’t back,” Derek noted as they walked in the cabin. In fact, from the smell of it, neither of them had been there all day.

            “Nah, they’ll be late tonight,” Isaac said, grabbing some wood and shoving it in the stove. “Doing some LT planning today.”

            “LT?” Derek asked, hanging his coat from the fourth nail by the door, which had been added with far too much ceremony for his taste.

            “Long Term planning,” Isaac explained, already focused on peeling an orange as fast as possible. “They do it every two months or so. When Scott started it, everyone was invited- well, not everyone, but like the pack and Danny, you know – but it was too crazy. So they’ve slimmed it down to just Scott and Stiles.”

            He paused to shove a chunk of orange in his mouth but only chewed it for a moment before swallowing and continuing.

            “It works out better this way. They come up with the big plan and then make sure we’re heading the right direction. Depending on what they come up with, they’ll pull in the right people for meetings and stuff.”

            “Do people find out what they’re about afterwards?” Derek asked. With all the effort Scott and Stiles put into running Beacon Hills on a day to day basis, he couldn’t really imagine what additional plans they were possibly making.

            “Some of it,” Isaac replied. “Like the second session resulted in the plan for the school so obviously everyone found out about that – technically, there was a vote - but… most of it is for like _years_ in the future so…” He shrugged. “I think Stiles convinced Scott that they didn’t need to tell everyone _all_ the plans. Which was probably for the best.”

            “Right,” Derek said. It was just like a pack would work. The Alpha and the Second figured out the plan together and then shared what was necessary when it made sense.

            “There’s no food here,” Isaac declared. Derek was about to protest that he and Stiles had made a chicken just last night that hadn’t gone _horribly_ when, Isaac was turning and grinning. “Wanna see if Nancy and Joe will feed us?”

            Three hours later, Derek was stuffed, tired, and still smiling at the stories of his father attempts to hook up a water supply to the cabin.

            And Scott and Stiles still hadn’t left headquarters.

            Well, at least Scott hadn’t and Derek would bet basically his life that Stiles was still there with him. Which meant that they probably hadn’t eaten anything for dinner.

            “I’ll go drop some off,” Isaac said when Derek informed him of this fact. “Last time they did an LT they basically stayed all night.”

            “Ridiculous,” Mrs. McCall said, her voice a mixture of concern, annoyance, and pride. “No bringing them food if it’s just going to let them stay up later.”

            “Oh, nonsense,” Nancy said, standing and moving towards the extra plates. “A good plate of food will put them right to sleep.”

            “Well, at least it will distract them for a while,” Mrs. McCall muttered, frowning out the window. “Though I would make them come get it themselves if it weren’t so late.”

            “I’ll do it,” Derek offered, standing. “And I’ll try to make them go to sleep too.”

            "Eager to get to bed, are we?" Joe said, raising one eyebrow. Derek flushed. Isaac snorted.

            "Oh, no teasing," Nancy replied, handing Derek two plates of food. "Here, tell them boy we say hello."

             Derek nodded and then all but ran out. Joe was smirking at him from across the room.

            His face was still burning slightly when he got to Headquarters.

            He hesitated at the door, used to always knocking but struggling with his hands loaded up with food. But he didn’t want to interrupt or barge in on any secrets that Stiles were Scott were trying to keep.

            He was seriously considering knocking with his foot when suddenly he heard Stiles’ bark of laughter from inside.

            “- citrus, Scott!” Stiles’ voice filtered out. “You forgot to deploy the citrus bombs!”

            “I left that up to the individual generals,” Scott replied, mock-seriously. “You can’t over complicate these things.”

            “We flooded the river with chocolate,” Stiles said. “I think it’s been complicated.”

            Their voices were light and happy and, deciding that neither would mind, Derek pushed open the door. The smell of exhaustion lay heavy in the air, but joy and laughter were more prevalent at the moment and both boys turned to him with goofy grins as he stepped inside.

            “Derek!” Stiles said. He was sprawled in one of the chairs, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His face was red with laughter, his eyes wet, one hand curled into his hair but not yanking in frustration.

            Scott was sitting with his back on the seat of the chair, legs curled over the back of it, grinning at him from upside down.

            “You’re alive!” He said, his feet kicking in the air in celebration. “We thought we’d lost you to the kittens!”

            The statement sent two of them into peals of laughter and Derek was smiling even as he considered the very real possibility that the two leaders of his pack were insane.

            He’d seen them like this before. When the two just got carried away by their own imaginations and built off each other until nothing made sense to anyone else.

            He was glad they could still get to this point. He’d been worried they were both too stressed to relax and enjoy.

            “Fuck,” Stiles said, wiping one hand down his face. “I’d forgotten about the kittens.”

            “I have food,” Derek finally interrupted. There was no doubt in his mind that this bought of silliness was at least in part due to exhaustion and starvation.

            “Who made it?” Stiles asked, sitting up straight but staring at him suspiciously. Scott squinted at him as well. As if they were in any position to judge the food that he had brought them.

            “Joe and Nancy,” Derek assured them, rolling his eyes. Scott rolled off his chair sideways, landing on all fours before leaping at him. Stiles just turned on his biggest and best smile and made grabby hands at him. Scott reached him first, snatching both plates and passing one to Stiles before pulling up to the table.

            “Come sit,” Scott ordered, mouth already entirely full of food. “Did ‘ou already eat?”

            Derek crossed over to sit at the table as well, nodding but stopping himself from asking questions for a moment as Scott and Stiles all but attacked their plates. He was willing to bet that they’d skipped lunch as well. And maybe breakfast.

            Instantly, the table caught his eye. Usually it was absolutely covered in papers. Different reports were kept in haphazard piles that built up and they were deconstructed and reassembled at random. Generally, it made Derek’s head hurt and horrified Lydia and only Scott and Stiles seemed to have any idea where everything was.

            But it had been cleared. Instead of random papers, there was one big map that took up almost the entire thing. Derek leaned forward, squinting.

            It was a map of the area. Not just Beacon Hills, but the entire… well, Derek saw at least forty werewolf territories clearly marked out. Some areas were shaded in different colors, there were at least five different kind of dot-like markings around the map, and arrows drawn in pencil littering almost all of it. There was no key.

            “What is this?” he wondered aloud, before he could think that perhaps asking questions about Scott and Stiles’ secret project wasn’t appropriate.

            “Oh!” Scott said and he didn’t seem angry or hesitant. “That’s the future!”

            Derek frowned. Stiles rolled his eyes.

            “What he means is that’s our best guess for what we want the area to look like in about ten years,” Stiles clarified, before shoving another huge bite into his mouth.

            Derek blinked. Ten _years_. Isaac had called it Long Term Planning but Derek had never thought that-

            “Ten _years?_ ” he repeated.

            “Well,” Scott said, frowning. “We’d love it to be sooner but… yeah, ten years is the plan at least. Though, it’s highly susceptible to change.”

            “It’s probably gonna look nothing like this,” Stiles said with an easy shrug. “But…”

            He faded and Scott stepped in smoothly. “We gotta be heading somewhere!”

            “But, what does it all mean?” Derek asked, waving a hand at it. Then he blushed. “I mean, you don’t have to-”

            “Stiles?” Scott said. Stiles glared for half a second, clearly communicating with his eyes that he was trying to eat, but Scott’s eyebrows went up even higher and Stiles obediently wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and leaned forward.

            “Well,” he started. “All the werewolf territories that we know are outlined in solid black line, the neutral territories with a dotted one as they are more likely to change. Packs that are part of the collective are shaded green, neutral yellow, enemies are red.

            “The ones with the green slashes across them are packs where the younger generation may be more pro-human in the future, or could be if applied the right kind of pressure. Pink slashes are weak packs. They’ll usually follow whoever is in charge.”

            “But not always!” Scott piped up.

            “Right,” Stiles said, nodding without looking up from the map. “All the blue area is the good stuff. That’s the neutral territories that’s either adjacent to Collective packs or far enough away from werewolves that we could hopefully establish human settlements there. So those are the blue dots. There’s Beacon Hills right there.”

            Stiles stretched and tapped one of the _four_ blue dots on the map.

            “It gets to be a star since it actually exists,” Scott added.

            “You want to start more settlements?” Derek asked, not bothering to keep the surprise from his voice. He didn’t know what he assumed, he just…

            “Of course,” Scott said. “We have to give people places to live but…”

            “The fact that you could smell we were here from almost a full day out is a problem,” Stiles said. “And that was with all the steps we take to try to minimize that. Basically, if we get too big, we won’t be able to hide.”

            “Hence more towns,” Scott finished. “Enough about the packs, tell him about the arrows!”

            So Stiles did. And Derek quickly lost any hope of actually keeping track of everything.

            Because there were arrows that mapped out how best to cut through enemy werewolf territories quickly, there were different ones for how to do it safely through friendly territory. There were mail routes and routes that you could travel safely with a cart. There was one that Stiles claimed wove you directly in between pack lines so that you would probably never be caught.

            “It hasn’t been tested though,” Stiles said, frowning.

            “And it won’t be,” Scott said firmly. “Not unless we have a _good reason_.”

            Stiles pouted but didn’t argue and it was-

            It was incredible.

            Derek kept forgetting to stay focused on the map and instead stared at Stiles and Scott in awe. Scott was content to let Stiles do most of the talking, smiling encouragement when Stiles paused to glance up at him and adding little details that gave Stiles a chance to catch his breath or shove a bite of food in his mouth. Whenever Derek caught his eye, Scott smiled a little wider as if to say: “Dude, I know!”

            And they both knew what they were referring to because Stiles was…

            Stiles was like Derek had never seen him before.

            He barely looked up from the map as he explained, only occasionally glancing at Scott to see if he wanted to add something. His fingers danced from place to place as he pointed out the various aspects of the map and his voice was focused and excited and-

            He was so alive. And it literally _hurt_ Derek to think that he had once thought that Stiles could be happy doing laundry and hanging out with him in the library all day.

            “And so, assuming that the river doesn’t-” Stiles finally glanced up, saw Derek’s mouth was hanging open, and finally seemed to realize that he had been talking for almost ten minutes straight. He faded out, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well, yeah. That’s it, basically.”

            He was blushing. He snatched his hand away from the map quickly and rubbed the back of his neck and dear God, if Scott wasn’t right there, Derek would drop down and-

            “Stiles,” he said. “That’s…” He wasn’t sure there was actually a word to describe it.

            “A little much, I know,” Stiles said, flushing harder. “Plus, it’s all hypothetical and depends on a lot of factors so… yeah.”

            “It’s awesome!” Scott insisted, reaching across to throw an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “See, Derek, told you he was a genius!”

            “Scott,” Stiles grumbled.

            “So that’s the plan,” Scott continued, ignoring Stiles’ protest. “Though what you overheard was even more in the future. To the outright revolution!”

            Stiles, relaxed now that the conversation wasn’t about him, grinning again.

            “Revolution?” Derek asked.

            “Can’t stay hidden forever,” Scott replied, his jaw going square for a moment. “Eventually, werewolves will find out about us.”

            “We’ll have to be ready,” Stiles said. “And we don’t really have any ideas for how to fight off a giant werewolf horde so sometimes we just brainstorm ideas. It can get a bit… stupid. Kinda a waste of time, really.”

            Stiles looked slightly ashamed and more than a little embarassed. Derek wanted to say that it _wasn’t_ a waste of time. That relaxing every one and a while was a good thing but Scott seemed to sense the shift and was already grinning hopefully at Stiles.

            “I think some of them could work!” Scott said. Stiles shot Derek a look that said he thought it was doubtful. It made Derek smile.

            “Our best ideas so far are stink bombs, which will actually affect both sides, and somehow digging ditches that are deep enough werewolves can’t jump out of them,” Stiles replied, a smile once again tugging at the corners of his mouth.

            “Well, at least you’ll never actually have to fight a giant horde,” Derek interjected over Scott’s crestfallen face, reaching to grab a bite of Stiles’ food. Stiles had stopped sneaking bites and although Derek would love to see Stiles finish the whole plate, he knew Stiles rarely finished even half of what Nancy served up. It was cold but he didn’t want it to go to waste.

            “What?” Scott asked, tilting his head to the side.

            “Well, you’ll never have to fight them all at once,” Derek said, chewing. “Werewolves don’t fight like that.”

            “What do you mean?” Stiles asked, his voice losing its peaceful amusement in favor of something urgent.

            “Uh,” Derek said, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s-”

            For a split second, he felt a rush of uncertainty. This was betraying… well, not pack secrets but _werewolf_ secrets. This was revealing things about his species that could potentially hurt them and-

            He saw Scott open his mouth, knew that the Alpha would have picked up his discomfort, realized that Scott was about to tell him to stop.

            “Werewolves wouldn’t fight together,” he said. “At least, not if you didn’t let them.”

            He knew the moment he said it, he’d made the right choice. Again.

            “Pack matters the most to werewolves,” he continued. “But second to that is territory. Werewolves would never fight as one organized group as long as their own territory was threatened. Not even the power of Deucalion would keep them there.”

            “That’s-” Stiles stopped. Blinked at him. Blinked down at the map. “That’s _incredible._ ”

            Scott was sort of staring at him too.

            “So,” Stiles started, eyes cutting from Derek to Scott and back again. “Conceivably, if we had enough small units and attacked on multiple fronts, we could-”

            “Stiles,” Scott cut in. “It’s late. We’ll figure it out later.”

            “But…” Stiles said. “This changes everything!” Derek watched as he squinted down at the map, doubtless already planning how this could work.

            “Probably,” Scott agreed easily. “But not tonight. Next LT, you can bring Derek and we’ll quiz him on everything. Besides, I’m beat.”

            “Well, I could-” Stiles started and Scott glared. Derek watched as Stiles’ hand clenched briefly under the table before relaxing.

            Stiles’ nightmares had become slightly rarer, but they hadn’t faded. Not completely. And for all that Stiles’ complained that _Derek_ was working himself too hard, he was the one who refused to go to sleep until he was literally dropping on his feet.

            “Fine,” Stiles sighed. “Also, I need you to clear a mission.”

            Derek felt Scott go tense through the bond, although outwardly he carefully took a last bite of his food before turning to Stiles.

            “A mission?” Scott asked. “For what?”

            “I just need to check some things out,” Stiles said, lifting one shoulder in what was supposed to be a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll only be gone a night or two. Three at most.”

            Scott’s mouth twisted and Derek had the thought that he should leave. Disagreements between the Alpha and his Second were private.

            “Check what things out?”

            “Just… things,” Stiles replied, entirely unconvincingly.

            “Stiles,” Scott said, sounding a bit exasperated. “You have to start _telling_ me what’s wrong. I can’t help fix things if I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be fixing.”

            “I don’t need you to help,” Stiles said, waving a hand. “I’m just letting you know I’m gonna be gone.”

            Scott took a deep breath. For the first time since he’d joined the pack, Derek felt him pull inwards, felt him stop spilling his emotions everywhere.

            It was just for a moment but it still made every muscle in Derek’s body tense up.

            “Stiles,” Scott said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “What things?”

            Derek watched as Stiles mouth stayed clamped shut for another moment before he was sighing and giving up.

            “Argent things,” he admitted. “Look, Scott, I know you don’t want to think about this but they’re dangerous. They’re up to something. And I’m out of options here at the camp. Kate and Chris were miles away from where they should have been two months ago and it’s my last idea to find something out so I have to go check it out so I figured I’d make a rough circle around the camp and look for _something_ because-”

            “Take Derek with you,” Scott interrupted firmly.

            “I – what?” Stiles said, blinking.

            “Maybe you’re right,” Scott said. “But Derek is probably better at tracking and he’ll be able to smell where they’ve been if they are planning out there and you shouldn’t go alone. So you can go, but Derek’s going with you.”

            “Okay,” Stiles said and he didn’t sound upset. More confused.

            “Three day maximum,” Scott said, a shadow crossing over his face. “No turning this into a nine day adventure like last time. If you haven’t found anything by then, you come back.”

            Stiles frowned but Derek nodded seriously for the both of them. Scott’s unhappiness was radiating through the bond.

            “Alright,” Scott said, standing. “If you’re leaving tomorrow, you need to get some rest. Both of you.”

            By the time Derek tilted his head in acceptance, Scott had given both of them a last nod and left the room. Stiles was frowning after him.

            “Stiles?” Derek asked, trying to take a deep breath subtly to see if he could figure out why Stiles was upset from Stiles’ scent. He had gotten what he wanted.

            “He agreed too easily,” Stiles replied. “He must not trust the Argents either.”

End Part VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There are no specific warnings for this chapter.**
> 
>  
> 
> I will be away this weekend with no internet and no chance to write, so I would expect the next chapter in a week or so!
> 
> Any comments or questions are MORE than welcome! Here or at my  tumblr!


	8. Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Thanks for taking the time to read this!
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warnings are at the bottom.**

**Part VIII**

            Somehow, Stiles had forgotten how much he loved the woods.

            He’d been making a point not to go on missions since Derek was back and, honestly, seeing as it was winter and a lot colder, he hadn’t regretted the decision. Derek made Beacon Hills exciting and even when his nightmares had started up again, he hadn't seriously considered arranging to leave the village for a few days. There was too much to do and Derek would be hurt and Scott would be worried and he hadn’t even realized he’d felt bored and cooped up until he’d spent two days hiking through the wilderness.

            They weren’t moving at a leisurely pace, Stiles wanted to cover too much area for them to do that, but it wasn’t the forced march of desperation either. The first day, Derek had stuck to his side but then the second, he’d gone twitchy and silent for a time before admitting that he would love to shift and run ahead.

            It made Stiles nervous, especially if he considered the fact that the Argents might be out in the woods, just waiting to jump on the chance of catching Derek alone but Derek had smiled and promised to stay in earshot – _human_ earshot – and Stiles couldn’t very well say no. And it was worth it, when Derek returned flushed and smiling and out of breath.

            Even the nights were better in the woods. Stiles never got nightmares when he was travelling for some reason and though it was cold, he’d relaxed enough to let Derek curl around him and well, there were definite benefits to werewolves running hotter than humans.

            Derek was enjoying it too, he could tell. The tension that Derek had carried in his shoulders since Allison had faded and although, at times he glanced back and frowned in the direction of Beacon Hills, when asked, he always replied that he could still tell Scott was fine, that it was slightly stressful to be away from your Alpha, but it wasn’t too bad. He was happy. His frowns were almost entirely comprised of the fond kind and when he stood in the morning, he stretched and groaned as if it felt good to be moving so much and-    

            Stiles had never thought about bringing Derek along on missions before. And obviously, it wouldn’t make sense for all of them, probably not even a majority of them but…

            But he was already planning ways to arrange for them to go on more. Because this? This time away from other people and judgment and Beacon Hills? This was just what they needed.

            And, Derek probably hadn’t shifted in weeks, Stiles realized, smile dropping so he could chew on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Derek was always being so careful. He would shift his eyes in the darkness to see better, but he was always asking permission first and he was careful to try not to do it in front of other people. And he never mentioned it being _difficult_ to _not_ shift, not when he was working with the builders, not when he was with Stiles but-

            But Stiles knew from previous experience that some werewolves likes to… let loose when they got excited and how much of a pain must it be to always, always, be _holding back_?

            The thought had just sprung into his mind, a nagging thread that he was already telling himself not to pull when-

            “Stiles,” Derek’s voice came from behind him but it was soft and a safe distance away, so Stiles didn’t jump. “I think I found something.”

            Immediately, Stiles turned, thoughts about the woods or Derek or shifting vanishing. Derek was mostly shifted back, though his eyes still glinted gold in the daylight as he stared out into the woods.

            “Where?” he asked. “What?”

            “I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “But up ahead, something smells…”

            “Like the Argents?”

            “Maybe?” Derek frowned. “Not quite but… it doesn’t smell right.”

            Stiles nodded wordlessly and followed as Derek led him away. Without thinking about it, his hand curled around the knife he always kept within arm’s reach.

            Even as he tensed, he felt the slim thread of excitement in his gut. He knew he was right about them. They were evil – well, probably not Allison, _maybe_ not Chris, but Kate and Gerard? Evil. And he was going to find them out and prove it and her goddamn _voice_ would get out of his nightmares and-

            Derek slowed as they reached a clearing, tensing and glancing back at Stiles.

            “Here,” he breathed. “Something’s… it’s not right.”

            Stiles bit back a thousand follow up questions to that statement, knowing that if Derek had any other information, he’d give it to him. So instead he came to stand at Derek’s shoulder, frowning into the clearing, trying to _see_ what could be wrong.

            At first glance, it looked like a thousand other small clearings in the woods. Perhaps it was a bit larger than most, but it hadn’t made it onto their maps of possible planting sites. All told, maybe twenty people could stand in it at once and Stiles couldn’t see what was wrong. If Derek hadn’t stopped him, he probably wouldn’t have given it a second glance.

            But Derek did stop him. So there must be something wrong. Derek said so. And there was something… something that just pricked at the edge of his awareness.

            “It’s the leaves,” Derek said suddenly, just as quiet as his first words. Stiles blinked. There were leaves all over the clearing, just as the rest of the woods, scattered-

            “They’re scattered evenly,” he realized, heart speeding up even more. Leaves didn’t scatter evenly in the woods. They clumped under trees and against tree trunks and rocks and in a clearing like that, the middle should be more sparse or, depending on the wind, one side should have built up over time.

            These leaves were scattered evenly. As if they had been placed there. On purpose.

            Next to him, Derek took a deep breath.

            “It's like…” he started, frowning in concentration. “I’ve smelled it before I think.”

            “When?” Stiles said.

            “You,” Derek realized aloud, glancing at Stiles. “You when you first got back to my house.”

            _Fucking_ -

            In an instant, Stiles was reaching up and pulling Derek back by his shoulder. And then pushing him further away for good measure.

            “Stiles?” Derek said.

            “I was _covered in poison_ when I got to your house,” Stiles said. “ _Werewolf_ poison!”

            “We have to go back,” Derek said, allowing himself to be herded back a few steps. “We have to get someone.”

            “Not without proof,” Stiles said. He needed proof. Scott would probably be willing to take his word for it, but he would need the whole story to convince Deaton and Nancy and Joe and the others who may be on the Argents side and- “We don’t even know what it _is_ yet. Wait here.”

            “No, Stiles, wait,” Derek said, reaching to grab Stiles’ wrist as he turned. His face was arranged into one of concern and worry. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at it- just a little. It was alarmingly similar to Scott’s face, even if nothing was the same but the eyes.

            “Dude,” he said, shooting a grin up at Derek. “I’ve been breaking into places I shouldn’t be since I was seven. Relax.”

            “I should-” Derek started.

            “You should stay here,” Stiles said. “Keep watch. Make sure they don’t sneak up on me.”

            Derek looked thoroughly miserable and though Stiles knew it was a horribly inappropriate time, he tilted his head up and kissed Derek anyway.

            “Just yell if you need something,” Derek said as they pulled away. “I’m running in whether you want me to or not. Be careful.”

            “Such little faith!” Stiles replied, smirking to make Derek feel better. He wasn’t sure it worked but it made Derek roll his eyes and then with a last wave, Stiles turned back to the clearing.

            For all his confidence with Derek, it was slow work.

            The leaves, although useful in figuring out something was wrong, did their work well. Each step had to be careful, light, and it was different from his past escapades because he didn’t know quite what he was _looking_ for or why this clearing was so important.

            Twenty minutes had passed when Stiles finally found the first one.

            But they were connected and from there it was faster and-

            “Derek,” Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice as he knew Derek could hear him. “It’s a trap.”        

 

*^*^

 

            Melissa was looking down at the list of people who were signed up to receive some form of medical care as she was speaking, so when she glanced up and realized that Scott was no longer listening, there was no way to know when he had stopped.

            She sighed.

            “Scott?”

            He tore his eyes away from where they were pointed to the woods and blinked at her. And then she watched as he tried to rearrange his face into something other than “completely spaced out.” It failed. She glared.

            “Sorry,” he said, his cheeks going a bit pink. “Sorry, I’m listening.”

            Melissa rolled her eyes. That was blatantly not true. Scott was always a bit preoccupied when Stiles was away on missions. It was a given that people had long accepted- when Stiles was gone, you tried to save your more complicated questions for later. And if you did have to talk to him, you made sure he was making eye contact before you started speaking and resigned yourself to repeating information as necessary.

            And if Scott’s replies were a little tighter and less patient that usual? Well, people forgave that even before Scott blinked and apologized.

            So Melissa was used to dealing with a Stiles-less Scott.

            But these past three days had been ridiculous. She had thought the fact that Stiles was going on a safe mission and that he had taken Derek with him would at least lessen Scott’s usual worry. However, if the way that her son’s eyes were already drifting back to the woods were any indication, this was not the case. Scott had been _more_ distracted and on edge than ever before.

            “They’re coming back today, right?” she asked, telling herself that maybe she could just talk to him tomorrow.

            “Yeah,” Scott muttered. “Though last time Stiles left he was gone for _nine days_ so...”

            He scowled and then his eyes were back on the woods, head tilted as if listening for something and Melissa let a frown cross her face.

            She hadn’t been the only one to notice that Scott wasn’t handling the separation well. But Deaton’s theory – that Scott may be being affected by the distance more because of Derek’s addition to the “pack” – hadn’t sat quite right with her.

            Her son wasn’t a werewolf. Sure, _Derek_ acted like he was, tilting his head in submission when Scott gave him so much as a suggestion, always making sure Scott had the biggest portion of food when they ate at Joe and Nancy’s (even though Scott always ended up giving half of it to Isaac), waiting to sit when he entered a room until Scott gestured or nodded to a seat. But she didn’t think Scott even picked up on those things. She was willing to bet that Derek didn’t realize he was doing them either.

            And Scott hadn’t changed at all since becoming an “Alpha.” He was still all smiles and suggestions, questions and embarrassed blushes when he got something wrong.

            “Can you-” she started, shifting slightly. “Can you… feel them?”

            Almost two months ago, when Derek first joined, Scott had said that he could. Melissa had no idea what that meant. She only knew that the few times she’d run into Derek on her way to find Scott, he’d been able to point her in Scott’s direction without missing a beat. She knew that Scott sometimes cocked his head to the side as if listening to something that wasn’t there. She knew that when Isaac had fallen off a roof last week and been briefly knocked unconscious, Scott had arrived at the infirmary moments _before_ Isaac, trailing a Lydia who loudly complained he had just up and left in the middle of their meeting.

            And now she knew that for the past three days, Scott had been distracted, anxious, and almost downright _rude_. Well, rude for him. Which meant practically normal when compared to everyone else. But still. It had people on edge.

            “No,” he said, jaw clenching for a second. “I mean, usually I can, if I focus but… they must be too far away still. But coming closer. I think.”

            “Is it hard to do?” she asked, frowning. Maybe this was something they should have looked into. Maybe they should have done it _before_ Scott agreed to be Derek’s Alpha. Not that they even had the chance.

            “No,” he replied, shaking his head and frowning in the way that meant he wasn’t sure. “I mean… I don’t think I do it very often but… it’s not hard. Just have to focus for a second.”

            Melissa frowned.

            “Try it now,” she said before she could think about it. She had a theory. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it to be right.

            He blinked at her but obeyed, head tilting and eyes going slightly unfocused.

            Melissa didn’t know if she was worried or proud. Because she knew that look. Now that she was thinking about it, it _was_ the one weird quirk that he’d picked up when Derek arrived at Beacon Hills. And if that was what it looked like when Scott “focused” on the pack then…

            Scott made that face all the time. Right before he greeted someone, or when there was a lull in the conversation, or when he had to take a moment himself to figure out what he was going to say. It was such a small, quick movement that Melissa herself had stopped noticing it after a while, only once early on asking if Scott’s neck was hurting and receiving a blank look in reply.

            He was constantly checking on them, she realized. And he must not even _know_ that he was doing it. Not if he thought he didn’t do it that often.

            “Still can’t feel them,” Scott muttered, annoyance filtering into his voice. “I told them to be back by today and it’s already after dinner time.”

            If Scott was constantly reassuring himself that his… his pack was _there_ and _safe_ and then for the past three days, he couldn’t even feel two of them…

            It would upset him without him even knowing, Melissa understood. Like he was addicted to it.

            No. She shouldn’t think like that. It wasn’t an addiction. It was just… the result of being Alpha to a werewolf.

            “Right,” She said as she remembered she was just standing there. “Well, you know Stiles. He’ll push it to the last possible moment.”

            Scott frowned at her, mouth opening to say something when suddenly his head snapped towards the other side of camp.

            “They’re back,” he said, already moving. “And something’s wrong.”

            “What?” she asked, jogging a few steps to catch up with him. Scott had never gotten that much taller than her but he was walking fast, face set in a determined glare.

            “Derek and Stiles,” he repeated needlessly. “They’re… they’re not going to headquarters.”

            He changed trajectory immediately, frowning more deeply now.

            Melissa trailed after, wanting to ask a thousand questions but never getting the opportunity. Scott was moving too quickly, barely breaking stride to ask a passerby to tell Isaac to meet him at Deaton’s workshop as soon as possible. He did the same to another with Lydia. He was moving with such a purpose that no one else dared to stop them, even though usually Scott walking through camp was constantly pausing to chat with almost everyone.

            They arrived at Deaton’s workshop and Stiles was standing there. Immediately, instinctively, she scanned him for injuries. He was sweaty, absolutely covered in dirt, and he was still panting slightly but he didn’t seem hurt. He was standing upright and calmly as he held the door open for Derek. He didn’t seem surprised that Scott somehow knew to be there.

            The fact that their traditional reunion hug was exchanged in favor of Scott’s grasping Stiles’ shoulder briefly and solemnly asking “What’s wrong?” had Melissa’s stomach twisting in knots.

            “Scott, we-” Stiles started, shaking his head. “We found something. It’s… Inside.”

            Scott nodded wordlessly and entered and then Stiles gave her a wordless look of half-surprise, half-warning and Melissa glared at him hard enough that he opened the door wider and ushered her in without protest.

            It was comical that he thought he could keep her away from this for even a moment. She would scold him aloud if the mood of the room wasn’t so oppressive that she immediately fell silent instinctively.

            Deaton’s workshop was one of the largest buildings in Beacon Hills, easily as big as the boy’s entire cottage, though it seemed slightly smaller for the shelves and counters lining all four walls. There were three large tables spaced evenly in the middle, usually covered with various plants and measuring devices that he had Stiles’ steal early on in their stay.

            Now, all but one of the tables had been cleared quickly and a bag placed on each one. She went to stand next to Deaton, in between the two used tables, frowning as Stiles moved to the head.

            “We were out doing what we talked about,” Stiles started, glancing at Scott but not bothering to explain. As per usual, the details of his mission weren’t disclosed. Not to her and Deaton. Even Lydia often didn’t find out until after the fact. “And about ten miles out, we found… well, it’s easier to show you, I guess.”

            Stiles reached for the first bag and Melissa saw Derek move for the second, but Stiles snapped his head up and _glared_.

            “ _Don’t_ ,” he said, sounding exasperated and Derek flinched back even as he rolled his eyes. A glance at Scott showed his frown had grown deeper, but he made no move to help as even Stiles was pulling out the objects slowly and carefully. And normally Stiles and Scott moved papers, food, and anything else they got their hands on with the reckless abandon of young men who thought nothing could be broken.

            Melissa leaned forward as Stiles slowly lined them up. Deaton did as well though Scott seemed content to wait until Stiles explained.

            She couldn’t tell what they were. It looked like a mess of wires to her; wires and a series of small canisters with… well, she just didn’t know. There was a reason she studied the human body over electronics. She didn’t even have a foundation to build on. The Levys hadn’t bothered hooking up electricity to the slave cabins. She suspected plumbing was only provided to appease the sensitive noses of werewolves.

            Deaton stepped forward, carefully and slowly grabbing a syringe and extracting some of the thick liquid from one of the canisters.

            “Are these-?” he started and then stopped, squinting into his small sample. “Oh, god.”

            Melissa was just about to break and ask what the hell was going on when Isaac barged in, gasping for air. Lydia entered a moment after him, appearing calm and collected even though her library was further away from Isaac’s building site. So she must have run over as well.

            “What is it?” he asked, eyes flying from person to person. “What’s wrong? What are those?”

            Lydia didn’t wait for Stiles’ answer, marching forward to stand across from Stiles and carefully pick one up herself.

            “They’re gas… grenade-things,” Stiles said, waving Derek further back as Lydia kept up her inspection. “They triggered by pressure-”

            “Or remote detonation,” Lydia added. Stiles blinked at her but accepted it without any protest. “Though they’re disabled now.”

            “Thank God,” Stiles muttered. “I wasn’t sure I was doing that right.”

            “Stiles!” Scott exclaimed.

            “Boys,” Melissa said before they could digress into the age old argument about whether or not Stiles was being too reckless. “I still want to know what they _are_.”

            “Right,” Stiles said. “Well, when triggered, they release a mixture of – well, we’re not sure exactly but it seems similar to-”

            “It’s lethal,” Deaton spoke and Melissa felt her heart stutter. Stiles (and _only_ Stiles if Derek’s lack of dirt was anything to go by) had been digging up _lethal_ booby traps. Scott face went pinched before Deaton continued. “To werewolves, at least.”

            “What?” Scott said, finally moving closer to stand in between the table and Derek. Melissa saw Derek open his mouth to say something and then close it at the well-timed glared Scott sent his way. “How?”

            “It’s not unlike the poison we developed to knock werewolves unconscious,” Deaton said. “But with a few extra ingredients and different proportion, obviously.”

            “I thought I told you not to develop _any_ lethal poisons,” Scott snapped and Melissa blinked in surprise at her son’s tone. Though she didn’t disagree with his anger. “In fact, I clearly _remember-_ ”

            “I didn’t develop anything,” Deaton said, calmly but firmly. “I never even put these ingredients together for fear of what it would do. Whoever made this didn’t do it with my supplies.”

            “Then who did it?” Isaac suddenly asked. “Where did you find these?”

            “All in a clearing,” Stiles said. “The same clearing. It was-”

            “A trap,” Lydia realized and for the first time that Melissa could remember the young woman sounded surprised.

            “For werewolves,” Stiles said. “The clearing was big enough for maybe twenty but the gases might spread further.”

            “And there was an almost finished circle of Mountain Ash buried in a wide ring around it,” Derek said. “We didn’t bother digging up all of it but you could tell where it was based on the dirt.”

            “But… who?” Isaac repeated. “I mean that’s… that’s _murder_ and this close to camp, it has to be someone who…” he faded out, staring at everyone.

            Something twisted in Melissa’s gut. She knew who it must be. Everyone did. But no one seemed willing to say it. Saying it would make it real, saying it would make it so something had to be _done_.

            So for a moment they all just stood. Derek against the wall, blocked in by Stiles and Scott who stood, as always shoulder to shoulder. Lydia was on the other side of the table, frowning down at the devices as if they had personally offended her. Isaac was the only one still by the door.

            Without thinking about it, Melissa took half a step closer to her boys, though the table stopped her from getting to close.

            She couldn’t even begin to think how they would handle this.

            “The Argents,” Scott finally said into the silence. “Gerard and Kate. Maybe Chris too.”

            He said it softly, but not gently and Melissa was already shaking her head.

            Not because she thought he was wrong. But because she wanted him to be.

            She and Chris didn’t get along all that well. Not after Derek’s arrival. She could never truly grow close to someone who so clearly disapproved of Derek’s presence in Beacon Hills. Because Scott was her son and he was right to accept Derek and Stiles was also _hers_ and Stiles needed Derek. Derek brought Stiles food at lunchtime so that he remembered to eat and dragged him home when he tried to work and Derek made Stiles smile.

            Stiles _loved_ Derek and really, that meant that she loved Derek too.

            So she was never going support Chris or his family’s ideas on who did and didn’t belong in Beacon Hills.

            Though, Melissa admitted to herself as the sort of stunned silence continued, even before Derek joined the pack, they weren’t particularly close. Couldn’t be. Because Chris was still overly protective of Allison and Melissa resented that idea that her son was something that Allison had to be _protected_ from and- and-

            And she was also hopelessly jealous that Chris could still _be_ protective. That he could tell Allison she had to eat dinner with the family and that she had to rest in between hunting missions and could demand that she be in her own bed every night. Allison was still his. He had authority. He was still her father.

            Melissa knew that Scott respected her. Cared about her, _loved_ her.

            But her word wasn’t law anymore.

            Her boys had outgrown her. They’d probably done it when they were twelve, when Scott had been torn, sobbing and still gasping from her arms, when Stiles had made the decision to leave his own father and follow him.

            Six years had been stolen from her. Six years of smiles and hugs and maybe fights and rebellion and-

            In the end, she’d been stripped of her role as mother as well.

            And it was awful and maybe undeserved and definitely selfish, but watching Chris with Allison and even hearing him _talk_ about Allison, as if she was still his little girl was too hard. Watching their interactions was almost physically painful. Because even when Allison rolled her eyes and glared, she still _listened_.  And even though Allison was clearly ignoring his instructions to stay away from Scott, she still bothered lying. When Scott didn’t agree with her, he simply told her so, sometimes with a slight tone of apology, sometimes with the strange tone of command that he had acquired in his years away – but most of the time, it was completely casual. He would launch into calm, easy explanations of why her idea was a good one, but wouldn’t work in this situation, all smiles and encouragement and it was just like he was talking to anyone else at the camp whose idea he didn’t agree with. As if _she_ were just anyone else.

            She hadn’t dared to play the “Because I’m your mother and I say so” card since she’d found them again. She’d come close, she’d used the tone but she couldn’t quite make herself say the words. Confirming that they would be ignored would be… she didn’t let herself do it.

            And she avoided Chris, keeping their contact cordial but not friendly and in her letters to Jenny, she’d only mentioned that he seemed able and willing to help protect Beacon Hills so she supposed she would get used to him.

            She still couldn’t imagine him doing something like _this._

            “You really think… _Chris_ had something to do with this?” Isaac asked.

            “We don’t know,” Stiles said after a beat. His eyes flicked to Lydia and then skirted away. “They didn’t exactly leave their signature.”

            “I still don’t get what this would accomplish,” Melissa said aloud, pulling the conversation away from that direction. At least for now. Scott didn’t need to worry about this now. “It would… it could kill maybe 50 werewolves but that wouldn’t actually _change_ anything.”

            “Yes, it would,” Scott said, jaw square as he frowned down at the table. “It would change everything.”

            Stiles nodded as if he knew exactly what Scott was talking about. He probably did.

            “That many werewolves dying…” Stiles started. “All humans would be blamed.”

            “Other werewolves in the area would find out about it almost as soon as it happened,” Derek added, crossing his arms. “They would send search parties out immediately.”

            “And find us in a second,” Stiles said. “We already know that the smell of this place is getting stronger.”

            “We’ve been cutting down trees all summer and fall for firewood and building projects,” Isaac agreed. “Even humans can smell that and the sound…”

            “It wouldn’t even take them a day,” Stiles finished.

            “Forced radicalization,” Lydia breathed and she didn’t look surprised any more. She looked… nervous, maybe even scared. “They’d attack and we’d be forced to defend ourselves.”

            “There would be no other way,” Stiles agreed. “We could never move everyone fast enough.”

            “And moving would leave an even bigger scent to follow,” Derek added.

            “Exactly and _any_ neutral allies we do have would be lost,” Stiles said. “All thought of peaceful reconciliation would be-“

            “We can never let that happen,” Scott interrupted, softly. “Never.”

            The five fell silent.

            Melissa felt old. Old and horrified.

            Scott took a breath. Then,

            “We need to make sure this is the only one,” her son declared into the stillness. “And, Deaton, we need to know where they are finding the supplies if they’re not stealing them from you. Find out where they could be growing their own stuff. Lydia, make sure Danny didn’t help with any of this. If he’s clean, have him start working on some kind of jamming signal- just in case there are more out there. Isaac, clear out-”

            “Scott!”

            Allison was still dressed for the hunt, bow in one hand, quiver strapped to her back, hair pulled back into a braid that trailed down the center of her shoulder blades. Her cheeks were red from the cold and she was more than a little breathless. Melissa wasn’t the only one who tensed upon her arrival.

            “Something’s wrong,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder with her free hand. “Grandpa and Aunt Kate just got back and started screaming and-

            “What are those?”

            Everyone was still sort of staring at her, waiting for Scott to say something. Isaac went so far as to take a step to the side so she had a clear view. Or at least he wasn’t in the way. The silence stretched, so she stepped up to the table herself, on the side across from Derek and Scott and Melissa thought about reaching out and pulling her away but didn’t.

            Instead she just watched as Allison frowned down at them, reaching out to touch them but then stopped as Lydia put her hand across Allison’s and halted the movement.

            “Scott?” Allison asked, looking up across the table.

            The bang of the door opening harshly made Melissa jump.

            Gerard barged in first, eyes wild and furious, already white with rage. Kate and Chris followed, Kate’s eyes dark with anger and although Chris looked as confused as Allison, Melissa found herself wishing that Isaac wasn’t standing right next to him.

            “They’re traps,” Scott said, answering Allison’s question while glaring at Gerard. “Armed with a gas designed to _kill werewolves_.”

            “You- how?” Gerard sputtered, chest heaving. “You fucking-”

            “What?” Chris said and he went to take a step forward, but Kate’s arm lashed out and kept him back.

            “You were planning to _murder_ werewolves,” Scott said, taking a step forward. Melissa wanted to stop him, wanted to somehow reach across the oversize table and hold him back. But even though she could only see the side of his face now, she knew she couldn’t stop him. “Even though you _knew_ what would happen, you knew-”

            “All I _knew_ ,” Gerard spat. “Was that you needed a reason to _act_ instead of just sitting around, pretending to be _friends_ with a goddamn sub-species instead of freeing humans. You-”

            “Shut up,” Stiles snarled, moving to stand next to Scott. “Stop pretending you care about other people. You don’t. You just care about killing werewolves. But you’re not going to. We won’t let you.”

            “You little _whore_ ,” Gerard said and Melissa couldn’t see Stiles’ face but she saw Derek flinch. “You think you can stop me? You think you can-”

            Then there was movement, movement that Melissa couldn’t follow and a sound. A sound that made no sense and her mind went blank.

 

*^*^*^

 

            If she had hesitated for just a _moment,_ he could have stopped it.

            He _should_ have stopped it anyway, he should have _known_.

            But the air was thick with the scent of confusion, dismay, and anger and then Gerard’s fury was overpowering and overwhelming and Kate’s scent was contained and masked, not unlike Stiles’, and he thought that meant that she was in _control_ , that it would be Gerard to snap but-

            But she didn’t hesitate.

            If she had, if she had taken a beat to smirk in triumph, or a breath to aim, or a heartbeat just to _think_ , he could’ve done something. He could have tackled her or tackled them or jumped in the way or-

            But she didn’t.

            Instead, Kate pulled the gun from her brother’s holster, flicked off the safety, and fired in one smooth, quick motion that Derek couldn’t stop.

            He still tried. He heard Lydia scream and something else fell and he moved.

            He leapt, fully shifted, before her finger finished pulling the trigger but he was still too far away, still had to knock Isaac over to get to her and so by the time he had her, the sound of the bullet had pierced the air and she had staggered back as the weight of something Derek didn’t bother to identify slammed into her chest.

            She went down easily, too easily, as if maybe she was already crumpling when he got to her and his claws were out and biting into her arms but he just held her down, thinking that that was probably enough, she was stopped, maybe it was done and-

            There was a sharp stabbing pain inside his head, and something was _wrong_ , something was _broken_ and he didn’t hesitate either.

            His claws slashed across her throat before he made the decision to do so.

            He thought the howling was coming from him but he couldn’t be sure.

            Gerard had moved, he realized, and he was moving again, the instinct to _hunt_ taking over almost completely. The man must have taken off the moment Kate fired, maybe even before, maybe he knew what was about to happen and Derek had to find him.

            Had to keep moving against whatever was causing the ringing in his head.

            He stood and took a deep breath, trying to lock onto his scent before he headed into Beacon Hills but all he could smell was blood. Blood and pain and terror and-

            “Derek.”

            He took a step towards the door.

            “ _Derek!_ ”

            Other sounds were filtering in now: thundering hearts and ragged breaths and as he turned, he didn’t know how he could have missed it.

            But he did.

            Because somehow, as he turned, and finally realized that the smell of blood was not limited to Kate’s body beneath him, and finally understood that the pain in his head wasn’t his own, finally _saw_ the body on the ground…

            Somehow, he was still surprised.

 

**End Part VIII.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: Violence, Character Death (of a villain) and Big Cliffhanger (but- trust me, okay?)**
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> Sorry about the cliffhanger! Next chapter will probably be up in a week or so!
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> Yes, I can be bribed to post sooner with comments. (Okay, that's a lie - posting depends on editing and if I ever manage to get Chapter 10 written but I still love em!)


	9. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! Here's the next chapter.
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> **There are no real trigger warnings for this chapter, but if at any point, you would like to know how it ends, I have included a spoiler for this chapter at the bottom.**

**Part IX**

            For a moment, Derek could only blink.

            The scene in front of him wasn’t processing.

            Little bits came into focus slowly: the way Melissa’s hands were trembling as she pressed into the wound, the blood that pooled around Stiles’ knees, the low, constant chant of “No, no, no, no, no,” that fell out of Stiles’ lips.

            Scott’s head was already pulled into Stiles’ lap by the time Derek looked over, Stiles’ left hand stretched along his chest and fisted in his shirt, Stiles’ right cradling Scott’s head so it remained still except for the slight rocking motion that moved Stiles’ whole body.

            “No, no, not hap- Scott,” Stiles was saying, although Derek didn’t even think he noticed it.

            “The bullet missed his heart,” Melissa said. “But it… there’s too much blo- I don’t- I can’t see.”

            Derek made a noise in the back of his throat that he would never be able to recreate. Scott’s presence in his head wasn’t hurting anymore, it was fading.

            Although Kate’s blood still dripped from his hands, he moved closer, kneeling down next to Scott’s feet and wrapping a hand around his ankle. He had to. Had to prove to himself that Scott was still _there._

            “C’mon, Scott,” Stiles said, seeming to ignore Melissa completely in favor of dragging his right hand around to Scott’s face. “C’mon, you can’t- you can’t do this to me. C’mon.”

            Derek would have said it was impossible but suddenly Scott was opening his eyes. They were glassy and unfocused and the relief that poured off of Stiles overpowered even the stench of blood.

            “Hey,” Stiles said. “There you are. That’s it. You’re okay. You’re fine.”

            “Stiles?” Scott said, blinking so slowly that Derek thought he may have passed out mid-word. He saw Stiles’ hands clutch harder.

            “Yeah, yeah, Scott, I’m right here,” Stiles said, voice shaking. “Look, don’t- don’t worry, okay. I got you. I’ll fix this. You’re gonna be fine.”

            “Mmm,” Scott hummed, his face flickering into a smile. “Okay, bro.”

            “Just stay awake, okay?” Stiles continued. “Your mom’s right here and she’s gonna fix you up but you have to be awake. So just… stay with me.”

            “Dude,” Scott started and then was forced to stop coughing weakly. Blood dribbled down his lips. “ ‘s a bad one. A real doozy.”

            Derek didn’t understand the reference, was positive that he’d heard wrong, but Stiles barked a laugh as if Scott had made a joke.

            “Yeah,” Stiles agreed and his voice caught as if he might start crying but he didn’t. Just took a breath and nodded. “Yeah, it’s a doozy. But I got you, remember? Like always. So just-”

            Stiles stopped. Scott’s eyes had fallen closed. Stiles gave him a terrified, tiny shake.

            “Scott, please,” he said. “Please, don’t.”

            Obediently, Scott opened his eyes, but it wasn’t for long.

            “Keep watch,” he said, or maybe asked, maybe begged, and then his eyes slid shut.

            He was still alive, Derek could tell, but his heartbeat was slowing  and Mrs. McCall was still pressing against the wound but she didn’t seem to be _doing_ anything anymore, merely resting her hand there as if by instinct.

            She was crying. So was Allison.

            Stiles wasn’t.

            His hand curled against Scott’s neck.

            “Okay,” he said and he sounded somehow calm. “Okay, we can do this. We can figure this out. We can- Derek!”

            “There’s no pain,” Derek admitted woodenly. He’d tried the moment he knelt down at Scott’s feet, had wrapped his hand around his Alpha’s ankle and tried to pull but there was nothing. “I can’t pull anything out.”

            “Well, that’s… that’s good, right?” Stiles said but the tone of his voice revealed that he already knew the answer. “That’s- we can- I can fix this. He just needs rest or-”

            “Stiles,” It’s Lydia who finally says it and Stiles looked up at her, glaring and then his face went pinched and he looked away.

            Derek watched as his eyes went first to Mrs. McCall and then back to Isaac and then landed on him.

            Stiles’ eyes were wet and wide and _terrified_ and Derek reached for him before he could stop himself.

            “Stiles,” he started.

            Scott was fading. He knew that. He could hear it in his heartbeat and felt it through the pack bond and-

            “No,” Stiles snapped at him. “There has to be-

            “Bite him.”

            Derek blinked, confused, both at the words and how the light of determination is suddenly back in Stiles’ eyes.

            “What?”

            “Bite him,” Stiles repeated. “Turn him. A werewolf would survive this. _He_ would survive this so do it. Bite him!”

            “You can’t do that,” Chris suddenly said and Derek jumped. He hadn’t even remembered Chis was still there.

            He must not have been involved in anything, Derek thought idly. Otherwise he would have run like Gerard.

            “Don’t you _dare_ tell me what I can and can’t do,” Stiles snarled. “In fact, why are you still- Isaac, grab him. Tie him up or something.”

            Isaac moved, wrapping a hand around Chris’ upper arm but showed no signs of taking his eyes off Scott.

            “Get his knife,” Stiles continued, though he had looked back down at Scott. “He so much as twitches, stab him.”

            Isaac gulped, but didn’t disagree.

            “No,” Allison spoke up, her eyes cutting back and forth from her father to Scott. “He didn’t-”

            “Shut up. You’re lucky you’re not-” Stiles snapped, looking up at her. He stopped himself, probably because she was crying but the hatred didn’t dim from his eyes. “If you hadn’t-”

            “Stiles,” Lydia said, frowning at him. “She had nothing to do with this. Look.”

            Lydia waved a hand towards Kate’s body and Derek followed Lydia’s instructions despite all the instincts that told him he didn’t need to see it. He had felt it. Her blood still stained his hands.

            But he did and that was when the moment before he had gotten to Kate made sense.

            The force that had pushed her back, that had caused her to start crumpling before he even got there, the force was an arrow.

            It was lodged deep in her chest and Derek knew that even if he hadn’t killed her, that arrow would have.

            Stiles gaze flickered over it only for a moment before he was turning back to Derek.

            “Bite him,” he repeated and the anger had dimmed, leaving it only terrified.

            “That’s,” Derek started and then his throat closed. “It won’t-”

            “It won’t work,” Deaton finally said and even he sounded shaken. Melissa let out a sob. “Only an Alpha can turn someone.”

            Stiles blinked up at Deaton, for a second looking completely bewildered. His hands around Scott tightened once more and his breath hitched and-

            “No,” he growled, eyes locking with Derek. “No, you told me he _was_ an Alpha. If he’s an Alpha, then it will work on him. He can turn himself or- or something. You just have to start it. You told me he was. You _told_ me.”

            Derek opened his mouth but he didn’t know what he was going to say. It wouldn’t work. He knew that. He knew this was just Stiles grasping at straws, desperate for a way, _any_ way to save Scott and-

            “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

            It was Lydia who spoke first but a glance told him that Isaac was frantically nodding his head in agreement. Even the grim certainty had faded from Deaton’s face.

            “His eyes glowed red when you joined the pack,” Melissa McCall’s voice was soft enough that he almost missed it. “He can feel where you guys are. Maybe… maybe, it’ll-”

            “Okay,” he said. But he didn’t believe it. He didn’t want Stiles getting his hopes up. “But it…”

            “It’ll work,” Stiles said and it was Mrs. McCall who slid away so that Derek could slid up to kneel on Scott’s other side. “He’s an Alpha.”

            “Traditionally, people were bitten on the hip to be turned,” Deaton added and Derek didn’t realize he was shaking until it took him two tries to lift Scott’s shirt high enough. “Just keep going until it feels right.”

            Derek didn’t hesitate any longer. Couldn’t. Scott’s heart beats had grown erratic. The bonds of pack were fading.

            He shifted and bit down.

            Blood filled his mouth and there was something – a ping in the bond that told him Scott was in pain, just for a moment- and then nothing.

            He held on. Three seconds, five…

            He kept waiting for something, a spark, a shift in the bond, a change in Scott’s heartbeat, _something_ tell him that it had worked, that he could let go and smile at Stiles and tell him that Scott would be okay, that he was right, that he had saved him.

            But nothing happened. So finally, after maybe seven seconds, maybe more he pulled away.

            He shifted back instantly and realized that his mouth was still filled with blood. Scott’s blood. He’d eaten raw animals before, it wasn’t uncommon when hunting during the full moon but-

            He covered his mouth with the crook of his arm and spit it out. If he swallowed it, he was going to be sick.

            “I don’t know,” he said into the stillness. “There wasn’t any reaction. I don’t know if-”

            He looked down. He couldn’t help but feel he had failed somehow. He’d failed to stop Kate and he’d failed to keep Scott safe and he’d failed to-

            “It’ll work,” Stiles declared. “It must just take a little while.”

            He glanced up at Deaton and Deaton shrugged.

            “I don’t know,” the once-gardener admitted. “It’s been centuries since werewolves relied on this practice to increase their pack. And even then it was rare.”

            “His heart beat is more steady,” Derek said. He refrained from mentioning that that could just be the prick of pain he felt focusing Scott for another minute. He refrained from noting that it was still weak, still slow.

            “He’ll be fine,” Stiles said. Slowly, he ran his hand along Scott’s forehead. As if he didn’t know he was doing it. “Okay.”

            Derek watched as Stiles pulled himself together, watched as he blinked hard and forced the tears in his eyes back into his skull, and took a breath.

            “Alright,” he said. “We have work to do.”

 

*^*^*^

 

            As he walked up the next day, a little after she’d finished the lunch that Isaac had delivered to her, Lydia wished she could say she was surprised. She wished she could say that she instantly perked up, expecting news of Scott, wished that that was the only thing that could tear Stiles from his side.

            But it wasn’t. And she wasn’t surprised.

            The past sixteen hours had been… well, Lydia didn’t know how he was doing it.

            Really, she didn’t know how any of them were doing it. Didn’t know exactly what they were doing.

            Not three minutes after Derek had bit Scott in an attempt to turn him into a werewolf, Stiles was glaring up at them and giving orders. First, for a board of wood to be brought in so they could get Scott to his bed without moving him. While waiting for Isaac to be back with that, he’d decided what to do about Chris Argent. Then, he lead the walk through the woods to avoid creating a stir in Beacon Hills, briefly explaining the situation to Joe and Nancy, who had met them in the boy’s cabin and-

            Then he’d set up a schedule for who would watch over Scott, alternating every four hours. And, in the great twist of all, he wasn’t on it. And Lydia’s first assumption, like everyone’s, was that Stiles would _always_ be there but Stiles had waited until everyone verbally repeated the barrage of orders he’d given them and then walked out.

            Lydia had had the shift with Scott from midnight to four am and she hadn’t seen a hair on Stiles’ head.

            As he walked toward her now, Lydia could tell he hadn’t slept. Probably hadn’t stopped moving. Probably hadn’t bothered eating.

            It was stupid, she knew. All it was going to do was make him weak and sloppy and she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him.

            “Come to finally take a turn?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She made her voice imply that he had been slacking even though she knew he hadn’t. Knowing everyone else, they had probably been walking on eggshells around him. Knowing Stiles, he hated it.

            The exhausted smile he at least tried to give her proved that she was correct.

            “Just here to talk to him,” Stiles replied, running a hand down his face. “He has to know _something._ ”

            “Still no sign of Gerard?” Lydia asked, turning to start untying the rope that worked as their honorary lock system. Stiles shook his head.

            “We’ve checked the stashes that Allison knew about,” he said. “But nothing. Hopefully Chris knows about more of them.”

            Lydia nodded, though she wasn’t sure it was in agreement. She didn’t think Chris knew anything about what his sister and father were planning. But she knew that he was the only lead Stiles’ had.

            Given Scott’s current state, she was actually surprised Stiles was treating Chris as well as he was.

            Chris hadn’t been allowed back in his bedroom – “ _too many weapons,”_ Stiles explained – but they’d locked him up in a bedroom of one of the only new cottages that weren’t used yet. So he had a bed and a small desk and, yes, Stiles had had Isaac board up the windows and there was a guard on him at all times, but it wasn’t bad.

            Stiles hadn’t put Allison on this rotation, but he hadn’t said she couldn’t visit.

            At least, that’s how Lydia had chosen to see it as she let her best friend in to cry with her father this morning. Stiles could fight her on it if he wanted, but he would lose. And Lydia had technically done her duty, she’d guarded the door.

            She untied the last knot in the rope as Stiles was covering a yawn and then followed him in the room.

            Stiles wasn’t Allison. She didn’t have to give him any privacy.

            “Stiles!” Chris sounded surprised to see him. He was sitting at the desk and started to rise before deciding against it. “Is it Scott? Did he-”

            “He’s fine,” Stiles said flatly. “No change.”

            The frown that crossed Chris’ face told Lydia he was about to say something stupid, something like he was sorry or he hoped Scott would get better and Lydia was glad when Stiles’ continued with barely a pause.

            “I need to know where you kept reserves,” Stiles said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a map. He set it down on the table and Lydia moved to the other side to lean over and see it as well. She had a precious few maps in her library as they had to be stolen and Stiles stockpiled them unabashedly- but she tried to cross-reference enough that they were kept up to date. “Allison already admitted that you did and she told us about these ones-” he gestured to the red dots scattered on the map. “- but we need to know where the rest of them are.”

            “I don’t-” Chris started, only glancing at the map briefly. “Allison would know just as much as I do.”

            “Look again,” Stiles said, his voice hard. “Your father has to have stopped for food somewhere. If we find out where, we’ll know which direction he’s headed.”

            Chris looked down at the map, silent for a beat. Then,

            “What will you do if you find him?” he asked quietly.

            Stiles’ jaw clenched, a muscle twitching somewhere by his ear.

            “That’ll be up to Scott.”

            Stiles said it like he was trying to force himself to believe it. Lydia didn’t know if it was because Stiles was starting to admit to himself that Scott might not make it or if he was accepting that if Scott made the wrong choice, he would do what he thought was best. She suspected the latter. Still, somehow his tone did not allow for disagreement.

            Lydia watched as Chris opened his mouth and then wisely closed it.

            “Allison missed two of them,” he said after another few moments of looking at the map. “And… I never knew for sure but-” he pointed to another place on the map -“they seemed to come out of that area a lot.”

            “That’s where the traps were,” Stiles said.

            “Oh.”

            There was a beat of silence and then wordlessly, Chris gestured for Stiles to give him a pen. In a moment, he had drawn two more Xs on the map and then hesitated only briefly before adding a third.

            Then he stopped but he didn’t move his hand away from the map, effectively holding it- and Stiles- in place.

            “What- what did you do with the body?” he finally asked, his voice tight. Lydia saw Stiles tense slightly.

            “Gonna bury it,” he replied shortly. “Out in the woods somewhere.”

            Not in the already existing graveyard was what he meant. Not among the other members of Beacon Hills who mostly died of old age or the rare sickness that swept through the community. There would be no small pile of stones or planted tree to mark her passing.

            Stiles had looked into burial sites only for practical reasons. Somewhere easy enough to dig, somewhere away from their water supply, somewhere most people would never pass.

            “No,” Chris said, sitting up straighter but not daring to move in his hand from the map. Stiles fingers still curled around the edge anyway. “No, you- we have a tradition. We always burn our dead.”

            Chris sounded like he was trying to be firm. Stiles scoffed.

            “We’re not wasting the firewood.”

            “How dare- She was my _sister,_ ” Chris snapped. The exhaustion had been pushed back from both of their eyes.

            “She shot _Scott_ ,” Stiles growled. “Now _Let. Go._ ”

            Lydia took a step closer, ready to stand between them if she needed to. She didn’t think her usual sarcastic remarks would do anything to dispel the tension in the room.

            They glared at each other for another moment and then Chris looked down and slowly lifted his hand from the map. Stiles had it back in his pocket in an instant.

            “Wait,” Chris said, anger vanishing from his voice. His jaw still clenched around the word. Lydia _knew_ Chris. He was content to follow his father and his sister but he wasn’t meek. He cared about the cause less than they did only because he cared about his daughter more. She knew the next words would cost him. “Please.”

            Stiles’ face didn’t change. But he didn’t leave.

            “She- she wasn’t always like that,” Chris said. “I mean, she-”

            His mouth worked silently for a moment, his face flushing in a way that Lydia recognized. She’d seen it on everyone’s faces for the past sixteen hours.

            “She used to be funny, you know?” he said. “She would- well, she always teased me, I was the little brother, but she… she used to be happy.”

            Lydia blinked but didn’t interrupt. She had respected Kate, liked her even but she would never describe Kate as a happy person. There was too much steel in her smile and bitterness in her laugh. Kate could be amused or pleased or entertained, but she was never content, never _happy_.

            “She would pull these pranks,” Chris said, blinking harder. “Not only on the weres, but on other humans. Harmless, mostly, but she always… getting caught didn’t even seem to faze her, and, well, you were with us, you know the punishments – but they didn’t bother her.”

            Stiles’ hand clenched into a fist. Chris plowed on.

            “Then, she- when she was 16, she left for three days – rented out,” Chris’ hand curled into a fist against his knee. “No one would tell me where or why but she… she came back different. Hurt. Sad. And then angry. And it didn’t stop.”

            Lydia felt something slide in her gut. Something heavy and sick. Stiles’ face had paled slightly. Lydia only saw the difference because she knew Stiles.

            “They kept- sometimes she would disappear for _months_ ,” Chris was still talking, not even bothering to look up at Stiles now. “And she came back worse every time and-

            “There was a reason we escaped before Allison turned sixteen,” Chris finished, glancing up. “So I’m not saying that she didn’t… didn’t make mistakes, she did, I know she did but she… she’s my _sister_.”

            “She shot Scott,” Stiles said but it lacked the anger of a few minutes earlier. “It doesn’t matter what she- they- It doesn’t matter.”

            “It _does_ matter,” Chris said, the anguish palpable in his voice. “She was ra-”

            “I know what she was,” Stiles snapped and his voice was cold and unfeeling and Lydia thought that he was about to snap that she was a murderer, a psychopath, a miserable excuse for a human being that he would gladly kill again.

            But instead, his eyes softened for just a moment and there was something terrified and broken in his gaze. It was covered up in a heartbeat. Chris missed it.

            “You don’t understand,” he said, more frantically now that it was clear Stiles was losing patience. “You don’t-”

            “ _Don’t_ tell me what I understand,” Stiles suddenly snapped. “I understand _perfectly_. You’re the one who has no idea what it's like to be-”

            He stopped as if stabbed and a thousand clues clicked into place and-

            Lydia wasn’t naïve. Her owners hadn’t been that bad (they were now actually in Stiles’ neutral column), but she had had enough of orders when she as fourteen and lived on her own until the Argents found her and she knew what could happen to teenage humans in a world that already taught they were nothing. And she wasn’t stupid enough to think that boys were spared. So she _knew_. She did.

            She also knew that her eyes had widened in surprise before she could stop them and that Stiles had glanced over at her to catch the movement and then he was turning and marching out of the room so fast she didn’t have time to look and see how Chris reacted to the news. Or if he made the connection.

            “Stiles!” she called as she exited. He was already five steps away and she didn’t bother to “re-lock” the door as she jogged to catch up to him. She should say something. “Stiles!”

            “Don’t,” he ordered, stopping and spinning to face her. “Not one word. Not ever. I didn’t even mean to-”

            He’d only said something because he was exhausted, Lydia realized. He hadn’t wanted her to know.  Didn’t want anyone to know.

            “You need to get some rest,” she said simply. Stiles didn’t let things slip.

            “Later,” he muttered. “If you see Isaac first, tell him I need to talk to him.”

            “About what?” she asked.

            “To tell him not to bother with the goddamn grave,” Stiles growled and then he turned and walked away and Lydia didn’t stop him.

 

*^*^*^

            Derek knew that, according to Stiles’ various schedules, he was supposed to be asleep right now.

            Stiles had worked it all out. Had planned when people should be watching Scott, Chris, or attempting to hunt down Gerard and had thoughtfully put in “suggested sleep” times, which were only about six hours long.

            So Derek knew he should be taking advantage. He’d just gotten back from a two hour hike with Deaton to check out another one of the Argents’ stockpiles and before that he was watching Scott for four hours and he was on Chris duty in seven and-

             If he lay down for even a moment, he would probably pass out. That’s what had happened last night. He’d meant to go find Stiles. Or maybe Lydia and then the thought had crossed his mind, the horrific, selfish thought of _What happens to the pack if he dies? Do I become an Omega?_ And he’d flinched away from it and closed his eyes to wipe it from his mind, to try and deny that he had ever shown such a lack of faith, such _thoughtlessness_ and he’d fallen asleep instantly.

            He couldn’t risk that happening again. So he wouldn’t lay down.

            He was tired, too exhausted to even think of moving but he wasn’t asleep either.

            So he just sat against the building that he had been working on with Isaac just a few short days ago. It wasn’t what he wanted to do but it was what he was doing.

            What he wanted to do was find Stiles and forced him to stand _still_ , if only for a moment. He wanted to wrap Stiles in his arms or maybe drag him into bed and just _hold_ him until Stiles start smelling like Stiles again and not a ball of exhaustion, grief, and terror.

            But that’s not what Stiles needed. He knew that. He’d asked.

            _“Stiles.” They just finished moving Scott to his bed. Stiles was sitting, one hand wrapped around Scott’s wrist. Scott hadn’t so much as twitched on the walk over. It was possible Stiles was crying. Derek couldn’t tell. “What should- What do you need?”_

_“I need…” Stiles stopped and swallowed. “I need everyone to get to work.”_

_His voice had gone flat and firm and he was cutting Derek off as surely as if he had disappeared._

_“I’ll be out in a second,” Stiles continued, nodding towards the living room where everyone else was waiting. “Just gimme a minute.”_

_Derek had left. And he’d made a point not to eavesdrop on the room._

He’d barely seen Stiles since. He’d tracked him down once and brought him food which Stiles’ put on the table without paying attention and probably hadn’t touched. Stiles had put him in charge of going out to most of the food-drops in case he could pick up Gerard’s scent and Stiles himself hadn’t been back to the house at all.

            Derek had never felt so lost.

            Normally, the answer would be in the pack but right now… he couldn’t even decide whether to reach out and feel the bonds of pack or not.

            A part of him was desperate to prove that Scott was still there- faded, yes, but not _gone_ and that had to mean something right? Derek was positive that regardless of whether he was paying attention to the bond, he would know the instant Scott-

            He stopped himself from even thinking it.

            Still, the instinct was there. To constantly check. Just to make sure he hadn’t faded any more.

            But Derek avoided it. Because the emotions of the rest of the pack weren’t any better than his own. He couldn’t handle them all. Couldn’t handle their fear and grief and hopelessness and-

            And that was all without even being able to feel Stiles’. Because the presence in his head that was Stiles had knotted up so tight that it was like he wasn’t even there.

            If he were honest, that absence kept Derek from reaching out as much as the emotions radiating off of the others.

            He couldn’t work but couldn’t sleep, couldn’t help Stiles and didn’t know how to even try, wanted to reach for his pack but was too scared to actually do it.

            So he sat. Uselessly.

            His head was tilted back against the building and his eyes had fluttered shut though he wasn’t quite asleep.

            “Derek?”

            He jerked. Maybe he had been dozing. Had to have been if a member of his pack had managed to get so close.

            And she was pack now. He didn’t know how human packs worked, what exact circumstances led to someone joining, but it was the first thing he’d noticed as soon as the shock of Scott had faded.

            He was still surprised to see her.

            “Allison,” he said, clearing his throat when it came out hoarse. He started to stand but she held up a hand to stop him.

            “No, don’t!” she said and he stilled immediately. “I mean… you don’t have to get up.”

            Derek blinked at her, confused and positive that he was only missing things because he was too exhausted to even think.

            “Okay,” he agreed easily. He focused on her for a second. She was over between Lydia and Scott, a new point that currently pulsed with the same grief and fear as the others. Except hers included guilt.

            Guilt for killing Kate, he assumed. He wondered if he would feel guilty later. When he finally got around to feeling things.

            Somehow he doubted it.

            “Look, I just,” she started. Her toe was digging into the dirt and it was strange to realize that the movement was familiar. Except usually she was bouncing on her toes in excitement, and usually it was right before a hunting trip, and usually she bounced right into a kiss with Scott before heading off into the woods.

            He didn’t know if all this information meant that he had been watching her more closely than he realized for these past two months or if it was coming from her somehow now that she was in the pack or if her little quirks that had once belonged to only Scott were now being spread to everyone.

            Stiles kept his excitement in his hands, he thought absently.

            “This is awkward,” she muttered, sounding frustrated and stronger. “Maybe I should sit? Or, that is, if you don’t mind, I-”

            “I can stand,” Derek said quickly. She was talking but not relaxed and he should be moving anyway. He should try to feed Stiles again. Standing would be the first step.

            She took a step as if to offer him a hand but then flinched back and he stood before she could offer again. And then they were facing each other and it wasn’t unlike before except her eyes were rimmed in red and he could feel her in his head more than he could feel Scott.

            She took a breath.

            “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “For before. For what I said.”

            Derek blinked. That was unexpected.

            “That’s okay,” Derek replied. “It’s fine.”

            He wasn’t even mad at her then and now… it seemed like so long ago. It just didn’t matter.

            “No, it’s not,” she said. “I mean, I was… I was listening to a lot of things told to me by Au- Kate and Gerard and well… they weren’t right about things. About you.”

            _They weren’t all wrong_ , Derek wanted to say. They were right about some things. About why he started caring about slaves. About how blind he had been before. She shouldn’t feel guilty about that. He didn’t blame her.

            But he could feel her guilt as a physical presence in the back of his skull and if saying it would help her feel better, he would let her. At least it was one person in his pack that he could help.

            “So, that’s what I wanted to say,” she said, nodding to herself. “Yeah.”

            She turned to walk away and Derek frowned. Guilt still surrounded her. He had wanted to _fix_ something. Just one thing. And no one was communicating and the bonds of pack were useless and he just-  

            “You didn’t kill her,” Derek said before he even thought about it. She froze and swung back around to stare at him.

            “What?”

            “You didn’t kill Kate,” he clarified. He watched as the information hit Allison, watched as her frown twisted into something questioning and-

            “I- I didn’t?” She sounded small and felt hopeful. It was the first hope he’d felt in nineteen hours.

            “No,” Derek said. “You missed her heart. She would have lived. I killed her.”

            He was lying. It had been a perfect shot. Kate was dying even as Derek slammed into her.

            He was lying and he thought, on some level, she must know it but her face broke into a fragile, slow smile for an instant before she wiped it away.

            “Oh, I… I don’t,” she took a breath. “I don’t know what that matters. It doesn’t except I just didn’t want to be the one who-”

            Her voice caught.

            “I did it,” he repeated. “I killed her. You don’t have to-”

            She was hugging him before he finished. Hugging him and crying and his arms had tightened around her instinctively, as if he were holding Cora instead of a girl who hated him up until nineteen hours ago.

            He didn’t know what to say but she didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t sobbing, just crying continually, but he felt the knot in his head loosen.

            “She was my aunt,” Allison mumbled and Derek nodded. “I mean I hate her, I _do_ , but… and if Scott isn’t okay, I’ll-”

            She stopped forming words again and Derek continued to remain as still as possible.

            She didn’t cry for long. After another minute, maybe two, she was pulling back, blushing and wiping her eyes.

            “Thank you,” she said and she wasn’t lying.

            He nodded and she didn’t elaborate. She merely gave him a nod in return and he tilted his head up in acknowledgment and then she was gone.

 

*^*^*^

 

            For a moment, all Stiles could do was stare at the door that Isaac had closed behind him, completely confused as to how he had gotten here.

            He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had things to do. Gerard still hadn’t been found and Deaton had discovered that his Mountain Ash supply had been completely wiped out, which meant there was probably another booby-trapped clearing somewhere, and he hadn’t updated Nancy and Joe in a while so he had to get Lydia or someone to do that and if he wasn’t going to kill Chris, he should probably do something about him and-

            He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t. Scott wasn’t dying- he _wasn’t_ – but he definitely couldn’t die if Stiles wasn’t watching so he should leave. He shouldn’t have come.

            He didn’t need to be here. He was sent updates regularly. He had learned to read the _No Change_ message on everyone’s faces well before their mouths actually formed the words. Isaac was all wide-eyed apology. Mrs. McCall shook her head silently as she approached. Lydia drummed her fingers against her leg in a display of impatience. Allison chewed her bottom lip as if still unsure of her welcome. Derek’s gaze alternated between intensely trying to meet Stiles’ eyes and flickering back in the direction of the cabin.

            And Stiles knew his part too. He nodded once and told them (and himself): “Okay.” And then moved on. He was handling this. He could manage things on his own until Scott woke up. He just had to keep moving.

            But for some reason, he had walked over and had mumbled something that had made Isaac leave the room without a word and he’d lost track of time and whoever was supposed to be watching Scott next and his hands were shaking too badly to open the door anyway.

            He would have to wait until they stopped. They had been trembling for over twenty four hours now and sometimes they got worse but it passed. It would pass soon and he could leave.

            That’s what he told himself as he turned around slowly and a part of him accepted that he was never leaving. Not without Scott.

            He turned and it was achingly familiar. Night had fallen but his eyes had long adjusted and maybe it was just a nightmare.

            That had to be it.

            He’d had a nightmare that Scott had been shot, that Scott was hurt, that Scott might be _dying_ but it wasn’t real and he was standing at Scott’s door like he always did after a nightmare and Scott was just asleep.

            When Scott woke up, he was going to yell at Stiles. Because Stiles hadn’t slept in days and he’d eaten food only to throw it up ten minutes later and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Scott was always mad when he worked himself this hard.

            That was okay. Stiles was going to yell at Scott for getting himself shot. It was such a stupid, idiotic, horrific thing to do. It was-

            _A real doozy_.

            They’d taken the saying from Stiles’ mom, one of the only things he had of hers. She’d first used it in the context of her agonizing headaches that left her curled in bed for hours, the other slaves scrambling to pitch in and complete her work so she wouldn’t be punished further. Then she’d used it to describe the episodes where she simply couldn’t catch her breath and then the periods when her limbs would go numb and-

            He still remembered the first time he’d rolled over, tears still sliding out of his eyes, blood dribbling from his mouth and told Scott “Well, that was a doozy. A real doozy.”

            He’d smiled and Scott had laughed and for a moment, it didn’t matter that they were twelve and their new owner was horrific and that they had already stopped talking about their parents by some silent, mutual agreement.

            What mattered was that they had each other and Stiles wasn’t okay but he would be and so that’s what the saying had come to mean.

            That you weren’t okay, but you would be.

            Stiles could be here. Scott would be okay. He’d promised. Scott always kept his promises.

            Hesitantly, he stepped away from the door, unaware that he had been leaning against the wall until he swayed and his vision blurred as he straightened. Still, he kept the three steps to Scott’s bed measured and controlled and then, even though he wanted to leap on Scott or shake him or scream or yell or do _something_ to wake him up, he forced himself to calmly sit on the edge of the bed, back to Scott, and _breathe_.

            He was dangerously close to a panic attack and he didn’t have time.

            He was trying to hold onto too many things and they were slipping away. He wanted to hold onto the fact that Scott had promised, that it would be okay, that it had to be okay because anything else would be unacceptable. He tried to tell himself that Scott was an Alpha and so he was a werewolf and werewolves could heal from anything and he kept trying to beat back anything of the other thoughts. Any of the ones that told him that it had been over twenty four hours and nothing had changed and Scott had been _shot_ and all of it, everything, was slipping and-

            He squeezed his hands together, trying to ignore the tremors that now shot up his arms and clenched his jaw because his chin had started to tremble.

            “Please,” he grunted without meaning to and he didn’t look up as he’d seen Melissa and Nancy and Joe do often over the past day. He looked over.

            He twisted to stare at Scott’s face. It didn’t looked pained but it wasn’t relaxed. There was a line of concern between his eyes that shouldn’t be there and he hadn’t moved at all, which Stiles could tell you was unnatural. Scott was as friendly and protective in sleep as he was when he was awake. Scott was always rolling around without waking and clutching whoever was nearby and pulling them closer and Stiles had spent his teenage years, waking up for brief moments as Scott rearranged them both.

            Even when… _things_ happened and Stiles had to admit that he was no longer comfortable with being completely entangled, even by Scott, Scott had somehow adapted. He’d settled for curling himself around Stiles’ wrist, his grip loose enough that Stiles’ could slide out of it easily.

            “Scott, please,” Stiles whispered, reaching his hand out before letting it fall short of its destination. “Please wake up. I need- I can’t-”

            He couldn’t handle it if Scott didn’t make it. He wouldn’t be able to handle Mrs. McCall’s sobs or Allison’s broken mutters that it was her fault. Isaac’s questions would destroy him and Chris’ stricken surprise would only enrage him. He wouldn’t even be able to handle Lydia’s rough attempts at normalcy or Deaton’s quiet directions to keep him moving.

            Derek’s attempts as helping him would fail. Stiles would make sure of it. Because he couldn’t fail at this. Not at _this_ , not at keeping Scott alive.

            And no matter what Allison or Derek or any of them said, Stiles knew it would be his fault.

            He was the one to push finding out what the Argents were doing, he was the one who had been so goddamn _excited_ to have stopped them that he blurted it out to Scott without even thinking about hiding the evidence or taking Scott to a safe location or having the Argents safely seized and _locked up_ somehow before just-

            His throat was closing, breaths speeding up, and he looked back at his hands to see them seizing no matter how tightly he pressed them together and-

            “Stiles?” Derek’s voice was loud and surprised and Stiles was glad to hear it if only because the presence of another person forced him to calm down. At least a little.

            He didn’t trust himself to speak so he just jerked his head into a nod. It must be Derek’s watch. That was good. He trusted Derek to keep Scott alive.

            “Are you- do you need me to-” Derek took a deep breath. “I can go.”

            Twenty five hours ago, it would have been a question. Now, Derek was already moving, giving Stiles his privacy, or letting Stiles push him away and that wasn’t _fair_ , Stiles knew and he wasn’t sure he could do it anymore and-

            “Wait,” Stiles managed and knew Derek stopped immediately without looking.

            “I need you to tell me it’s going to work,” Stiles admitted and he wasn’t even sure if Derek would be able to hear him, even with his werewolf powers. He kept talking anyway. “Tell me you felt _something_ when you bit him or that his heartbeat is getting st-stronger and he’s not dy-”

            He stopped, uncertain when he had started crying. He couldn’t- he needed- The fragile, desperate hope that he’d been keeping alive for twenty five hours was shattering and he just needed someone else to put it back together. Just until he could manage it again.

            “Tell me he’s going to be okay,” he said – begged, risking glancing up at Derek for just a heartbeat.

            “Stiles,” Derek said and Stiles heard the pity there. Derek wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t want to get Stiles’ hopes up, wouldn’t want to lie to him and then have it all come crashing down. Stiles knew that everyone else was starting to let go, was starting to adjust to the idea of a _world without Scott_. But he- he couldn’t _do_ that. Didn’t know how to even start.

            He couldn’t. Not yet. Probably not ever.

            “I know,” he said, locking his gaze on his hands once more. They’d never stopped shaking. “I know- I just… Just lie to me. Lie. That’s what I want. Need. Right now.”

            He needed someone to pretend with him. Just for a moment.

            For a beat, Derek didn’t move and Stiles lifted one shoulder to wipe his eyes, already telling himself that that was okay, that Derek probably knew best, that-

            He didn’t even sense Derek move so it was a surprised when suddenly Derek’s hands were tangling in his own and Derek slid to his knees so that he could catch Stiles’ eyes with his own.

            “Stiles, breathe,” Derek said and Stiles gasped, not realizing that he had stopped. It wasn’t a panic attack but he thought that it would be if he had enough energy to spare.

            Or maybe it was just all the tears that he hadn’t let out for twenty five hours rushing out at once.

            Derek was right. He had to calm down. He had to hold it together.

            “He’s going to be okay,” Derek said suddenly, when Stiles had managed a few gulps of air. “He’s strong and a fighter and an _Alpha_ and he’s going to make it.”

            If anything, the words – the _lie_ – made Stiles’ chest constrict more.

            “I- I can’t,” he stuttered and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say next.

            “You don’t have to,” Derek replied and his voice was calm. “He’s going to be fine, okay? It’s going to work.”

            Derek kept talking and Stiles let the words wash over him. They didn’t calm him right away but… but eventually he managed to get it together.

            Maybe eventually he even believed it again.

            At least he knew that he stopped crying and started breathing and then-

            “Come on,” Derek said, pushing gently on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles fought for all of a second before the firm pressure guided him to his back and then it was instinct to grab onto Scott’s upper arm, his grip lined up with Scott’s ridiculous tattoo. It was just a big stupid thick line that wrapped all the way around his arm and Stiles had made the mistake of trying to talk to Scott while it was done and he’d actually _passed out_ and it was so embarrassing and now he curled around it without meaning to. 

            He felt Derek remove his shoes and wanted to stop him but his eyes were sliding shut against his will. Still he fought to keep them open, to focus on the gentle rise and fall of Scott’s chest that proved he was still there.

            “Go to sleep,” Derek ordered softly. “He’ll still be here when you wake up.”

            Stiles was asleep before he let himself wonder whether or not Derek was still lying.

 

*^*^*^

 

            “… Stiles?”

            Stiles woke groggily, too hot and for a panicked moment, uncertain where he was.

            He had only the vague sense that he wasn’t supposed to be asleep but sleeping would be better than waking up.

            Maybe he was injured? Or sick? It would explain why he was somehow sweating even though he didn’t immediately feel any blankets.

            “Stiles?”

            The voice was definitely Scott’s, sounding confused and maybe concerned and-

            Stiles shot up, events finally trickling into his brain, realizing only dimly that he was wedged between Derek and Scott and surely Scott’s voice was a dream and-

            Scott’s eyes opened slowly, blinking into the darkness and-

            They were red.

 

**End Part IX.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoiler: No one dies. It's all okay!**
> 
>  
> 
> The next chapter is not yet written so it will be up when it's up- but I figured this was a better spot to possibly go on a longer break than the cliffhanger! Look at me, being all nice!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it- I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> (Also-  tumblr is a good spot to reach me as well if you want questions answered privately!)


	10. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Writing three papers for school and then getting distracted by  tumblr fics equals delayed update!
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warnings at the end.**

**Part X**

            “Derek.”

            Derek shook his head and tried to shrug and fought for all of a second and then Scott’s eyes flashed and he sighed and stepped towards the desk Scott was sitting on. Surprisingly, it seemed to have survived the night unscathed.

            “I’m fine,” he tried, looking to catch Stiles’ gaze. Stiles was frowning at both him and Scott but it was unclear whose side he was on.

            Scott’s jaw clenched in a brief show of annoyance but the next second Derek was close enough to grab and he relaxed as his hand clenched around Derek’s wrist.

            In an instant the pain of bruises and cuts that Derek had acquired over the past few days faded. It wasn’t quite the desperate yanking method that Derek had used to stop Stiles’ panic attack years before, but it wasn’t the peaceful decrease of pain either.

            Scott shouldn’t even be able to do it.

            Taking someone’s pain was one of the last things you learned as a werewolf, usually not until you were twelve or thirteen and, yes, Derek didn’t know if it would be different since Scott was a bitten werewolf instead of a born wolf but…

            He didn’t think it was right. That Scott had learned that trick without even having it explained to him. Two weeks ago, the moment after Scott had woken up,  he’d pulled Stiles into a rough hug, leaned back, frowned and then said: “ _You have a headache. Wait, I think I can-_ “ and then Stiles had gasped and Scott had flinched and that was that.

            For Scott, taking other’s pain away was one of the few things about being a werewolf that was second nature.

            There were a few other things he could manage. He had adapted to always being able to feel the bonds of pack fairly seamlessly. He’d spent the afternoon of his first day gleefully pointing out to Derek where everyone was and grinning when Derek nodded in confirmation. He’d been understandably overwhelmed by scents at first but was getting better at them. And his urge to make sure everyone smelled like pack was definitely intact. He spent the first three days not-so-subtly hugging and rubbing his cheek on any member of the pack who even attempted to talk to him.

            Of course, no one had really minded.

            Unfortunately, that was where Scott’s ease with being a werewolf ended.

            It had become apparent instantly that Scott couldn’t shift into his wolf form. And Derek didn’t quite know how to explain it. For him, it was just something he did. And he’d done it since he was a baby. Switching back and forth was easy. But, apparently, not for a bitten werewolf. Scott didn’t seem that concerned by the lack. Neither did anyone else.

            But even that first week, Derek had known that this would have to be handled soon or later. At some point he was going to have to learn to shift.

            So, he’d gone smaller, tried to coach Scott on how to shift each individual attribute separately, tried to explain it as it had been explained to him and he had taught the twins but… Scott didn’t get a handle on it. His eyes would flash red but only when he was annoyed or angry. He couldn’t control it.

            And as if by agreement, everyone had avoided mentioning that Scott was getting annoyed or angry rather easily these days. If Scott was a bit more tense or short-tempered, well… he had just been shot. He was alive. That’s what mattered.

            And then the full moon hit.

            Derek knew it was coming in the same way he always did, the slight pull to shift and run and _hunt_ a little bit stronger than it was most days but he hadn’t really thought about it. If anything, he’d tried to avoid noting its presence when he joined Beacon Hills, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it. But then three days before the full moon, he’d woken up to a strangled _growl_ coming from the room next to theirs and-

            He’d been up and heading for the threat before he even fully processed what it was. And then he’d opened Scott’s door to see a fully-shifted _Alpha_ and-

            It was Scott but it wasn’t. Scott’s personality, his _humanity_ , was gone.

            The Alpha had frozen for a moment and then leapt at him, trying to escape, and it was only as Derek felt claws scratch across his shoulder and noticed that it didn’t start to heal instantly that he realized that Scott was his _Alpha_ and the wounds left behind wouldn’t fix themselves.

            The realization had shocked him and he let his guard down for a moment, unsure how to proceed, until Stiles was in the room, yelling for Scott to calm down and when Scott launched himself at Stiles, Derek lunged and-

            It had been like that for the four nights since.

            They’d tried everything. They’d put food in the room with Scott so he’d have something to eat, they’d tried hiking deep into the woods (sans Stiles) so that Scott would have room to run without risking anyone but it was always the same. Scott would head unerringly towards Beacon Hills, growling and howling by turns. Deaton’s theory was that he was trying to find and bite the rest of his pack instinctively.

            It was impossible to say for sure as Scott always remembered absolutely nothing about the night before.

            He only knew what he could string together from the clues left on Derek and Stiles’ bodies. He read the fact that he had fought Derek in the way that Derek flinched when he took deep breaths and limped after his leg was wrenched backwards. He knew that after the second night, Stiles had refused to leave him in the bruise that stretched across Stiles’ cheekbone and the cuts along Stiles’ ribs.

            “This isn’t right,” Scott said, his voice tight and his forehead damp with sweat. He was taking too much pain, Derek knew. But he knew that there was no real point in resisting. Scott would take all of his and then insist on doing the same to Stiles.

            “It’s fine,” Stiles said, absently wiping blood from his mouth. They’d tried locking Scott up in an abandoned classroom last night. The door had only held up for five hours.

            He hadn’t managed to bite Stiles, though there were a few close calls.

            “It is _not_ ,” Scott snapped and his eyes flashed red. Derek had seen Stiles flinch back from less but all he did now was raise one eyebrow. Somehow even though Scott was turned into a full-fledged, out of control _werewolf_ every night, Stiles remained unafraid of him. At least outwardly. Every once and a while Derek heard his heart rate increase but that could have just as easily been the physical result of being chased. “ _Look_ at you two.”

            His voice was tight with guilt and grief and-

            “We’re fine,” Stiles said. “Just a few bumps. We’ve had worse.”

            Scott’s mouth twisted. “That’s not the point.”

            “You’ll figure out how to control it eventually,” Stiles said confidently, and though he always made Derek go first, he stepped forward when Scott released Derek and reached for him. That was a fight that Stiles knew he would lose. The third morning, when he’d declined firmly and moved to walk away, Scott had actually growled at him, eyes bleeding red, claws out. For a moment, Derek had been afraid that it was still early enough that the moon was affecting Scott but even though he’d grabbed Stiles roughly, all he’d done was start leeching the pain out. Stiles had glared at him the whole time. But he hadn’t protested again.

            “The full moon’s effect should wear off after tonight too,” Derek said. It was mostly guess work but he and Deaton had agreed on it.

            “So we have a whole month to figure it out,” Stiles said. His voice was slightly slurred and it made Derek frown, if only because it made it clear that he had gotten hit harder than he let on the night before. “By then, Deaton should have enough Mountain Ash to hold you.”

            Stile’s argument for being nearby – that they couldn’t have Scott tearing through Beacon Hills to find a member of his pack – hadn’t truly convinced Derek in the first place. With every passing night he approved less. Sure, Stiles argued that he was entirely used to wounds of all kinds while Derek was the one who was just now enduring the aches of bruises and sting of cuts, but Derek was still a werewolf. At least he was strong enough to throw Scott off of him when he got pinned down.

            Something wasn’t quite right there. Stiles’ presence in his head had never quite opened up again as it should have and Derek had caught a few faint whiffs of guilt coming off him and… it just wasn’t right. Stiles seemed to be spending an alarming amount of time avoiding Scott and Scott spent every moment they were together alternating between frowning sadly and glaring and – it wasn’t right.

            And he and Stiles weren’t right either. At least, Derek didn’t think they were. Though, he couldn’t have said why.

            There was no time to say anything though, because Scott seemed to be able to pull out Stiles’ pain even faster than he could anyone else’s. In a moment, Scott was taking one last deep breath and Stiles was sagging in relief before pulling himself upright, and then Stiles was stepping away.

            “C’mon,” Stiles said, offering Scott a hand as he slid off the desk. “Nancy and Joe will have breakfast.”

            It hadn’t taken them long to figure out that Scott’s newly formed temper was lessened if the entire pack was around him. So Stiles had organized most of their food rations to go to Nancy and Joe and now they had not only nightly dinners but breakfasts as well. At first, Stiles had managed to avoid the breakfasts, citing the abundance of work he had to do since, at least to the majority of Beacon Hills, Scott was still recovering. But Scott had pouted and Stiles had caved and born the concern and worry over his injuries with nothing more than a rare eye roll thrown in Derek’s direction.

            Despite everything, it was nice, having the pack all together. Well, the pack plus Chris Argent. One of the first things that Scott had done upon waking was to decide that Chris didn’t have anything to do with what had happened and to “free him.” Stiles had managed to convince him to at least have him live with Nancy and Joe until he could finish combing through their old house for clues. If Stiles was taking his time with that… well, no one was calling him on it. Not even Chris who just seemed grateful to be in a house with constant fire going. At least, he was on his best behavior during mealtimes, mostly staying quiet and limiting his disapproval of Allison and Scott’s renewed relationship to concerned looks and slight frowns.

            Derek still felt relieved that they always headed straight there. He knew that Melissa would see to any deeper injuries, though at this point, they’d been lucky. She’s only had to give them each a few stitches and pop Derek’s shoulder back in its socket once. And now they hopefully only had one more night of it. Until next month.

            The walk over was through the back woods and silent, as usual. Scott’s shoulders were slumped and his unhappiness radiated through the bond. It didn’t dissipate as they ate and though Joe and Nancy managed to facilitate a sort of conversation, without Scott’s input breakfast still seemed like a soft, almost somber affair.

            The joy and relief of Scott being _alive_ had faded. Derek didn’t think anyone was surprised when Scott pushed away his almost full plate and announced:

            “This isn’t working.”

            Next to him, Stiles’ jaw went square but he didn’t interrupt. Everyone else went silent as well.

            “I know you’ve all tried to be nice about this,” Scott continued, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn – even Chris Argent’s.

            “You’ll get it eventually, dear,” Nancy said and she sounded just as certain as Stiles usually did. “It just takes a bit of practice. Don’t worry so much.”

            “Nothing Derek tries to tell me even makes _sense_ ,” Scott said, shooting him an apologetic glance. Derek accepted it with a shrug. He knew he wasn’t the best teacher. And teaching someone to shift was like trying to teach someone how to breathe. He just didn’t know how to explain it. “We’re going to need to try something else.”

            This wasn’t the first time this conversation had come up so everyone knew their parts.

            “There must be books on it _somewhere_ ,” Lydia said. Derek knew she had been personally offended when her private library had failed to produce any information on the topic. “I know we don’t want to reach out even to our allies about this but…”

            “I could always try to steal some,” Stiles said. Derek frowned at him. Most books were now held in people’s private estates. It would be insanely risky to even attempt it.

            “I don’t think it would be worth it,” he offered. “I tried to do research on the pre-werewolf era when biting was more common practice and…” he shrugged. “There’s just not much written about it. Nothing practical like that.”

            “That’s because it’s impossible.”

            The table stilled immediately.

            That wasn’t in the script. In no version of the script did Chris Argent dare to say anything about this topic. Chris Argent didn’t really contribute to any conversation, at least not while Stiles was around.

            “What do you mean?” It was Deaton who calmly asked the question everyone was thinking.

            “It’s impossible,” Chris repeated. He was staring down at his now empty plate, voice tense and small. “Bitten werewolves can never learn to control it.”

            Derek froze. He wasn’t lying. At least he didn’t think he was. His heartbeat was perfectly steady.

            “How could you _possibly_ know that?” Stiles said, already rolling his eyes.

            “I _know_ ,” Chris said. “It’s something our family has known for generations.”

            “Yeah, generations of slavery,” Stiles said. “It’s not like you were-”

            “It’s true,” Chris cut him off. “I promise it’s true. Believe me, I wish… I _wish_ it weren’t but- but it is.”

            Derek saw Stiles open his mouth to argue but Nancy took the beat of silence to sort of _tut_ in the way she only did when she was annoyed.

            Derek had only heard it twice in the two and a half months he’d lived at Beacon Hills.

            “Well, I can tell you that that is certainly not true, young man,” she said, glaring at bit at Chris. “Bitten werewolves are completely capable of controlling their powers. It just takes time.”

            She spoke with a casual authority and just a hint of reproach and waved people to pass over their dishes as she continued.

            “So, don’t you go telling lies that are only going to upset Scott over there. Don’t worry, son, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

            Next to her, Joe nodded.

            Derek frowned at them. He saw Stiles do the same. Even Scott looked faintly suspicious.

            Nancy and Joe had been saying similar things for the past four days but it was usually with an air of optimism that could be easily attributed to their general attitude.

            This… this didn’t seem like optimism. It seemed like certainty.

            “How do you know that?” Stiles asked and his voice was less angry than it had been when he’d asked Chris the same thing a moment ago but just as insistent.

            “Oh,” Nancy said, blinking and blushing just a bit. Derek noted idly that her heartbeat sped up. Not much. But enough. “Well-”

            “We’re old,” Joe cut in, waving a hand. “We know things.”

            Derek stiffened and watched as Scott cocked in his head to the side. Because Joe was lying. Despite his casual smile and relaxed posture, his heart had skipped a beat. Maybe even two.

            “So you’ve heard of it happening?” Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, couldn’t have heard the telltale irregularity but he didn’t seem convinced either. Of course, that might just be because Stiles tended to assume that everyone was lying to him.

            “Uh,” Nancy said. “Yes.”

            Her heartbeat flickered.

            “Nancy,” Deaton said, his voice a soft warning.

            “They’ve got to know,” Nancy replied, glaring over at Deaton. “At least the basics. So Scott knows it’s possible.”

            “Basics of what?” Stiles said. Next to him, Lydia nodded. Allison was glancing back and forth between Nancy and Scott rapidly. “We have to know what?”

            “We do know of someone who was Turned,” Joe said, sending his own disgruntled look around the table. “And he can control the shift just fine. It just takes some practice. And that’s it, really.”

            Across the table, Chris went very, very stiff.

            “What?” Stiles asked. “Who? How did he do it? Where is he now? That is not _nearly_ enough information!”

            “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Lydia asked, for the first time that Derek could remember, sending her usual disapproving frown at the two eldest members of the pack.

            “Yeah,” Isaac agreed, nodding. “If we could find him, maybe he could help Scott!”

            “We can’t give you any more information,” Joe said. “We made a promise.”

            “Screw your promise,” Stiles said. “This is _important_.”

            “We know it’s important,” Nancy said, sounding a bit hurt. “But… but we don’t know any of the _details_. We just know that it happened and it only took three months – maybe four -  to learn how to control it so Scott will be fine. You just need a bit of practice, dear.”

            “This sounds like just a rumor,” Chris said. He sounded a bit breathless. “It can’t actually happen. Everyone knows that.”

            “It _did_ happen,” Joe said, glaring. “We know. He came back and-”

            Joe stopped abruptly. Deaton sighed.

            “So you _knew_ him,” Stiles said. “You saw him _after it happened_. How? Did he come through Beacon Hills?”

            Nancy and Joe looked at each other, both flushing.

            “Just tell them,” Deaton spoke suddenly. He sounded resigned. “It was bound to come out eventually. Though maybe you should tell him in private.”

            “You can tell me in front of everyone,” Scott assured them. Derek just hoped they gave in soon. Stiles was practically vibrating with curiosity. Still, he couldn’t help but look over and watch as Stiles nodded vigorously. His eyes were lit up with excitement again. Excitement and hope and he smelled like raw curiosity, which was basically Stiles’ default smell.

            “It’s not you,” Joe said, still carefully looking down at his hands. “It’s… well…”

            “He was our son,” Nancy said slowly. “William Davidson.”

            Derek was so focused on watching Stiles’ reaction that the name didn’t even register at first and then-

            _No._

            “Your _son?_ ”  Stiles said. Derek shook his head. It wasn’t possible. Joe and Nancy’s last name wasn’t Davidson. It wasn’t. It was… He never knew their last name. It had been two months and they were just Nancy and Joe and-

            Neither of the two answered Stiles’ question. They were both staring at him, he realized. Waiting to see if he had figured it out. Waiting to see how he would react. Because William Davidson was his-

            “That’s not possible,” he said.

            It wasn’t. He would know something like that. His mother would have _told_ him. Or his _-_ someone would have told him.

            “I’m so sorry,” Nancy said. “We promised not to- It was too dangerous, Derek.”

            “What’s going on?” Scott asked. He was sitting up straight, clearly sensing the distress but not sure what to do about it. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw that Stiles had reached for the knife he kept at his side, though Derek could already see the realization dawning in his eyes.

            This couldn’t be right.

            “That’s…” he cleared his throat and then forced out the answer to his Alpha’s question. “William Davidson is my dad.”

            His voice came out wooden. Wooden and confused.

            It was too big a lie. It couldn’t be true.

            Lydia head titled to the right to the right and her eyes squinted and he knew she was putting it all together in her mind and it would probably make sense because _his dad had helped build this cottage._ And all the stories were there and the timeline was there and-

            “I have to go,” Chris suddenly said, standing abruptly.

            “Me too,” Derek said. He couldn’t stay here. He needed to be alone. He needed to- to fucking _process_ this and- He made it halfway to the door while the shocked silence still held. Then,

            “Derek, wait,” Stiles said, throwing down his napkin. For a moment he slowed but then he saw Nancy reach for him and that- that he couldn’t do. Not when his whole life-

            “Derek!”

            For the first time that he could remember, he ignored Stiles and kept moving.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles wasn’t surprised when Scott came up and plopped himself on the fallen tree next to him.

            He had seen Scott curl a seemingly casual hand around Derek’s neck and “suggest” he grab some sleep while Scott and Stiles took the first watch. He had watched as Derek curled up and fell asleep almost instantly.

            Stiles was happy for him. They’d been up for five nights with Scott and then even last night, Derek had slept with a frown on his face, as if he were angry even in sleep. At least now he seemed semi-peaceful; not that Stiles could make out his face but he wasn’t shifting around too much. Not from what Stiles could hear.

            Though, he’d also seen it for what it was. Scott was about as subtle as a punch to the face.

            Briefly, he considered pulling out an exaggerated yawn and telling Scott that he was tired enough to grab a few hours of sleep as well. It wouldn’t technically be a lie. He had been awake every night, just like Scott and Derek. But Isaac had kicked Derek off building duty so Derek slept during the day and Scott-

            Well, Stiles had made plans early on to keep the specifics of what happened at Deaton’s out of the general knowledge of Beacon Hills. As far as most people knew, there had been a heated discussion between Scott, Gerard, and Kate; Kate had shot Scott in the shoulder, and then both of the Argents had run off into the woods. Chris and Allison weren’t even there to witness it.

            It had seemed like a good lie at the time. Werewolf friendly or not, the knowledge that Derek had _killed_ a human and that their leader now _was_ a werewolf would probably not go over as smoothly as they hoped. Especially if Scott couldn’t be trusted to stay calm and tell people what had happened himself. So, Scott had spent the past two weeks strictly indoors, “recovering” from his injury. He’d doubtlessly managed to grab more sleep than Stiles. Stiles had been busy handling questions about what had happened and when Scott was going to be back on his feet and dealing with concerns over who was in charge of security now that Gerard and Kate were gone and a thousand other things that he was used to _Scott_ dealing with. It was probably all made a hundred times worse by the fact that _everyone_ was used to talking to Scott. Surprisingly, people didn’t seem to appreciate his short responses and sarcastic answers.

            ( _But, really, how on earth did Scott manage to remain civil to people who thought complaining about things like the color of their cottage or the lack of variety of food was appropriate?_ )

            So, yeah, Stiles was tired. And the pace that they were setting through the woods to try and make it to the Hales’ in only three days was fairly grueling but-

            But he’d been avoiding Scott for almost two weeks now. It was starting to get obvious. Tapping out now, when he and Scott finally had a moment to themselves would push it over the top. Scott would want to know _why_ and he’d probably be hurt and –

            Stiles couldn’t have that conversation. There were things there that both of them would be better off not saying

            So he’d have this one.

            “How’s Derek doing?” Scott asked first, his eyes flicking over to the sleeping werewolf. He probably couldn’t see him any better than Stiles could though, for all that darkness had long sing crept up on them while they were still walking, his eyes hadn’t turned red. Derek hadn’t even asked him to try. Five nights of seeing exactly what happened when Scott shifted had everyone a little on edge.

            But he’d been fine last night and would be fine tonight.

            “He’s alright,” Stiles said, shrugging one shoulder. “He- well, he’s angry. And he’s hurt but…”

            Stiles shifted. Derek hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his thoughts about finding out that his father had at one point been a human slave. He’d grunted out “Someone should’ve _told_ me” a few times and then promptly refused to talk about it. And had gone to apologize to Nancy and Joe for leaving so abruptly but had flat out refused to listen to their explanations or stories of what happened. His apology was surface-level only and he’d made no attempt to say goodbye before they left.

            “I think he just needs to talk to his mom and dad,” Stiles finished lamely. “Hopefully that’ll help.”

            He wasn’t sure it would. Derek was nothing if not stubborn and at this point he seemed to be stubbornly furious and-

            “I can’t believe Nancy and Joe are his _grandparents_ ,” Scott said. “I mean, imagine having-” He shook his head.

            “I know,” Stiles said, feeling himself relax even though he hadn’t meant to. Derek had only seemed more disgruntled and betrayed when Stiles pointed out this fact to him but… for humans, knowing who your grandparents were was a rarity. Maybe on some of the bigger plantations, slave families stayed together but, really, even staying with your parents was a privilege.

            And all too often, that privilege didn’t last.

            “No wonder they like him so much!” Scott said, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s a shame we had to leave right away, when we get back, Derek should make them tell him all about his dad as a kid. Maybe we should write down all the stories!”

            Stiles nodded, face flickering into a smile. Stories were important. Stories were all you had.

            “He’d been working on a family history before we left,” Stiles said, glancing over. “I guess he’ll have a lot to add to it.”

            Scott grinned at him and for a moment, Stiles thought that maybe they could leave it at that. But the grin faded quietly and then Scott was just staring at him and-

            “Stiles,” Scott started. “We should-”

            “You think Isaac is gonna be okay holding down the fort?” Stiles asked, purposefully looking away. “I mean, I know we told him to just ask Lydia for all the answers but-”

            “Stiles,” Scott said. “We have to talk.”

            “We are talking,” Stiles replied. “Cora’s going to be pissed Isaac didn’t come with us, you know. And Jenny will be bummed your mom didn’t come.”

            “Stop,” Scott said, but he didn’t sound angry and his eyes didn’t flash red. He just sounded tired. Stiles twisted his mouth shut. “I know Chris talked to you too.”

            Stiles flinched.

            “It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “What he said. I don’t-”

            He didn’t want to think about it. He-

            _“Stiles,” Chris said. Stiles didn’t have the energy to glare at him. He’d spent his hopefully his last night ever listening to the scratches and clawing of Scott against the double barricaded door of the now completely demolished classroom and they were scheduled to head to the Hale Household tomorrow and- “We need to talk.”_

_“Alright,” Stiles sighed, allowing himself to be herded behind the back of headquarters. He didn’t see what the man could possibly want. They’d burned the body two weeks ago and Stiles hadn’t attended the ceremony but Scott did and unless Chris had information on his still-missing father, he really didn’t see why-_

_“This plan,” Chris started, his voice low and grave. “It won’t work.”_

_“Seriously,” Stiles said, moving to step away. “We’ve already been over this- Nancy and Joe’s_ son _became a werewolf and he handled it just fine. I don’t-”_

_“No,” Chris said, reaching out to snag his arm. “No, listen to me. I’ve talked to them. About the process. And it only worked because he had an Alpha. Someone to keep him in check until he could do it himself. Someone to reign him in.”_

_Stiles opened his mouth but Chris kept talking._

_“Scott won’t have that,” the older man continued. “He_ is _the Alpha. So Talia Hale is not going to be able to control him. If anything, her presence might make it even worse.”_

_“Okay, even if that is true,” Stiles said and he admitted to himself that he had the same concern. “That doesn’t mean that you_ need _an Alpha. Maybe it makes it easier but Scott just needs to talk to Mas- William. He’ll have tips.”_

_“That’s not how it works,” Chris said and his hand was back around Stiles shoulder, tightening in desperation. “Look, I promise you. An bitten werewolf without an Alpha_ can’t _control it. They just_ can’t _.”_

_“How could you know that?” Stiles said, yanking his arm away. “Seriously, we only know of one bitten wolf and he controls it. Why are you so insistent that-”_

_“That’s not the only bitten wolf we know of,” Chris said through his teeth. “We- that’s- I know of another.” His voice had changed halfway through the second sentence, gone lower, gone… soft. Regretful._

_Stiles froze. Chris continued as if he couldn’t stop now that he had begun._

_“My- my wife,” he said, not looking at Stiles anymore. “She- it was during one of our first escape attempts. Years ago, she got caught and- they… the Alpha bit her.”_

_Something in Stiles’ stomach twisted._

_“We hid it,” Chris said. His jaw was clenched enough that Stiles had to focus to catch the words. “We thought what you think now. That she could learn to control it but…_

_“But she never did. We managed to hide it for a month but then Gerard found out and he… he had seen it before too. It used to be a punishment back when he was a child. He told us there was no way to control it.”_

_“What- what happened to her then?” Stiles asked because he didn’t want the answer in his head to be right. Didn’t want what he knew of the Argents story to connect with this one._

_“It was her decision,” Chris said, finally meeting his eyes again. “She made her choice but… but in the end, she couldn’t do it. So I had to.”_

_Chris looked strong and sure and regretful but not_ sorry _and Stiles took a step back._

_“You-” he started. Stopped. He couldn’t say it aloud. Didn’t even want to try. “Does Allison know?”_

_“No,” Chris said, a shadow crossing his face. “No, she doesn’t and she – that’s not the point.”_

_Stiles took a breath._

_“What_ is _the point?” he asked, perhaps a bit more harshly than he meant to._

_“The point is that this wo- probably won’t work,” Chris said, matching Stiles’ tone. “The point is that if he makes the decision, you have to be ready to-”_

_“Shut up,” Stiles said. “If you think-”_

_“It’s not what I think. It’s what I_ know _. Scott is a danger to_ everyone _and he always will be and-”_

_“You’re wrong,” Stiles said, glaring. “Scott’s not a danger to anyone.”_

_“Look at your face,” Chris shot back._

_“He’ll figure it out,” Stiles replied. “_ We’ll _figure it out. Just because_ you _didn’t-”_

_He turned and walked away before he could say something unforgiveable._

            “He told me about Victoria,” Scott said. Stiles stared out into the night and wished he would stop talking. “He told me this might not work.”

            “It’s going to work,” Stiles ground out. “Chris is wrong.”

            “His reasoning made sense,” Scott continued. “William would have had an Alpha to help him control it. I can’t- I can’t control _anything_ , Stiles.”

            “Yes, you can,” Stiles replied. “You were only bad for five nights-”

            “It was _not_ just those five nights!” Scott snapped and Stiles didn’t flinch because it was Scott, but if it were anyone else he might have. Scott realized what he had done and sagged instantly.

 

            “Look,” he continued, quieter now that he had been before. “I know no one wants to mention it but… but it’s not like I don’t _notice_. I’m-”

            “Scott.”

            “I’m angry _all the time_ , Stiles,” Scott said but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared. “I feel myself getting annoyed at _everyone_. When people ask questions or chew too loudly or even try to be nice. It’s _not_ just those five nights. It’s always.”

            Something cold settled around Stiles’ chest even as he shook his head.

            “You’ll figure it out, Scott,” he said, trying to be firm. “This is just… readjusting. It’ll balance out.”

            For a moment, they were silent. Then,

            “… and if it doesn’t?” Scott asked softly.

            Stiles’ hand clenched into a fist before he could stop it. He didn’t want to do this.

            “Then we get enough Mountain Ash to lock you up for five nights a month,” he said, trying on a smile and finding it lacking. “Deaton already started making more.”

            “People at Beacon Hills would find out,” Scott said. “They won’t stand for it.”

            “Of course, they’ll ‘stand for it,’” Stiles said. “You’re the leader.”

            “Not anymore,” Scott replied and his voice dipped. He wasn’t arguing – just stating facts. “We can’t have a- a _werewolf_ leading the human slave rebellion.”

            Stiles’ mouth twisted into a scowl. Both at Scott’s tone and the truth he feared might be lurking there. Even though it _wasn’t_ true. Everyone loved Scott. They would be fine with him continuing to run Beacon Hills, even if he was now technically a werewolf. Stiles would _make_ them be fine.

            “Yes, we can,” he said. “You said yourself, remember? Equality means we can have equal friendships and relationships. So you can still be the leader. It doesn’t matter.”

            “Stiles,” Scott said, sounding a bit exasperated. “You know it matters.”

            “Fine,” Stiles said. “Then we leave Beacon Hills.”

            “We can’t leave Beacon Hills.”

            “Sure we can.” Beacon Hills didn’t _matter_. Not like Scott did. That’s what no one else seemed to understand. That’s what _Scott_ didn’t understand.

            “Where would we get the Mountain Ash?” Scott asked and Stiles finally tore his eyes away from the woods to glare at him. He didn’t need one of Scott’s rare moments of practicality entering into this conversation. He was already unhappy enough. Scott wasn’t going to push him into this conclusion no matter what he said.

            “Fine,” Stiles snapped. “Fine. Then we don’t bother with the Mountain Ash. We just leave.”

            “And the next full moon?”

            “We go back to the original plan,” Stiles said. “We stop fighting it. You bite me and we hope that calms you down.”

            Scott went rigid beside him.

            “I’m never biting you, Stiles,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That’s not an option.”

            “It is,” Stiles said. “We wouldn’t have to worry about you hurting me so much anymore and-”

            “And you’d be just as out of control as I am!” Scott said.

            “We don’t know that,” Stiles replied, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe you’d keep me in control by instinct. Maybe it would calm you down to have two real Betas instead of one.”

            “We are not _experimenting_ on you,” Scott said. “It’s not worth it.”

            Stiles snorted. Given how all this had happened, it wasn’t just worth it, it was practically _justice_.

            “Seriously, Stiles,” Scott said, glaring at him. “It’s not an option. So just forget about it. We’re not doing it.”

            “Then what?” Stiles demanded, shooting to his feet. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to promise to- to _kill_ you?”

            The words hung in the air and Stiles saw Scott open his mouth to speak so he answered before he got the chance.

            “Because I won’t,” Stiles growled. “I won’t do it, Scott.”

            Scott looked at him sadly, and it was then that Stiles finally noticed his breathing had hitched. It was uneven and maybe a bit panicked and he-

            “I know,” Scott said and Stiles sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he needed. “I know you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t ask you to.”

            “Oh,” Stiles said, sitting back down, slowly. Not because he wanted to but because he had seen spots when he stood and he just didn’t have enough energy right now. He couldn’t do this. “Alright then. Good.”

            “But you’d have to let me go,” Scott said. “If that’s what I decided.”

            Stiles didn’t stand again. He was too exhausted and this wasn’t a surprise.

            This was Scott and his goddam savior complex. This was always where this conversation was going to go.

            That’s why he already knew his answer.

            “I wouldn’t do that either,” he said honestly and he didn’t look over but he felt Scott nod. But only in acknowledgement. Not agreement.

            Scott wasn’t an idiot. He knew this conversation just as well as Stiles did. They’d had it before. Not this version, maybe, but they knew their parts..

            Scott probably assumed that this was just the first step. That after enough of these conversations and enough evidence and enough explaining, he could convince Stiles to do what he wanted. He was laying the foundation for something that Stiles would never let happen.

            But there was no way to tell Scott that, no way to explain that this was never a fight he would win and if people didn’t stop telling him he was going to have to kill his brother, Stiles thought he was going to lose it.

            They sat for a while, but it wasn’t peaceful. Scott was frowning, doubtlessly picking apart the conversation and finding all the places where Stiles had said something he didn’t like. He was doubtlessly turning them over in his mind and putting it together and Stiles knew with a sick sense of certainty that this wasn’t over. Just delayed.

            “We’ll figure it out,” Stiles said finally and stretched his legs. It was time to be done for now. “We always do.”

            “I don’t understand why you’re not afraid of me,” Scott mumbled, as Stiles stood up. “Everyone else is. I can smell it. Even my mom sometimes.”

            Stiles took a breath and then crouched down, ignoring the twinge along his ribcage that told him he hadn’t quite healed from the nights before. Scott’s head was still hanging, eyes focused on the ground in abject defeat.

            “Hey,” Stiles said, wrapping a hand around the back of Scott’s neck. “You’re Scott. Why would I be scared?”

            “I’m a werewolf,” Scott said. “I’m-”

            Stiles squeezed until Scott looked up at him. This close he looked tired. Tired and scared and miserable and Stiles had done this to him.

            “You’re Scott,” he said, meaning to reassure Scott but maybe addressing both of them.

            He saw the disagreement in Scott’s eyes even before he looked away and shook his head. His jaw clenched and Stiles’ heart mirrored it and-

            “I’ll take first watch,” he said, reluctantly letting go and stepping away. “Go get some rest.”

            Scott dragged in a breath, but didn’t argue and of this whole conversation, that’s what unsettled Stiles the most.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Derek shifted his shoulders for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the point between Scott’s shoulder blades that he had been staring at for almost five hours.

            If he could avoid looking around, he could avoid acknowledging the fact that it felt somehow _wrong_ to be here. And that didn’t make any sense.

            Because, after four and a half days, they were back in Hale territory. And so every time he looked around, he recognized everything.

            He recognized each tree and clearing and could point erringly towards any of the gardens or favorite hunting spots but he didn’t feel any connection to them. To any of it.

            And he knew that that was because it wasn’t his territory anymore, that when they went back to Beacon Hills, he would probably feel the sense of calm that used to come from walking these paths but…

            He had lived at Beacon Hills for a little over two months. He’d lived here for over twenty _years_.

            It wasn’t right.

            Of course, it also wasn’t right that for twenty years, his parents had lied to him and he hadn’t even known who his father was and-

            He took a breath and tried to calm down. His anger didn’t do anything except feed into Scott, whose mood seemed to swing from annoyed to depressed depending on whether he was looking at Derek, Stiles, or back in the direction of Beacon Hills. Besides, in the scheme of their lives, the fact that he didn’t know about his dad was fairly low on their priorities.

            Scott needed to know how to control the wolf inside him. Derek needed to talk to his mother and then move past this. Stiles needed at least one full night’s sleep, probably more.

            Derek frowned and glanced back. The hike had been hard on Stiles, made worse by the fact that he had insisted on taking an equal amount of time on watch even though he wasn’t a werewolf and the fact that Derek strongly suspected he had been waking up with nightmares. Yesterday, Scott had all but confirmed his theory as he declared that they weren’t going to start walking until Stiles woke up naturally. Stiles had managed to sleep until almost nine and then he was snapping awake, looking scared and then confused and then angry as he realized what had happened.

            Scott was entirely unrepentant, even when it cost them an extra night in the woods.

            But, even now, Stiles looked tired. He was lagging behind a few steps and his eyes were trained on the ground. He seemed pale and skinnier and Derek wished that he could say it was the just the journey, but he knew the process had started earlier which just mean that he didn’t know what was _wrong_ and-

            The growl that burst from Scott’s throat pushed all thoughts of Stiles form his mind in an instant.

            Derek felt himself shift instinctively, eyes flashing, hands lengthening into claws and he went to launch himself in front of his Alpha until he saw what it was Scott was growling at.

            And Derek saw the red eyes glaring from the shadows and knew that he would be useless in a fight against another Alpha. Still, he stayed alert, sliding to Scott’s left and-

            “What are you _doing_?”

            Stiles was suddenly in front of Scott, one hand pushing back on his chest, the other stretched towards…

            Talia Hale.

            “Hey!” Stiles said, opting for waving his hands in front of Scott’s face when Scott showed no sign of calming down. “Dude! Stop- Derek! You too!”

            It was then that Derek noticed that he hadn’t shifted back either. The level of threat and challenge radiating from Scott was too high and his mom wasn’t backing down either. But Stiles’ words brought him out of it and he took a deep breath and blinked, forcing himself to shift back.

            Scott’s growl lessened but didn’t disappear.

            “Scott!” Stiles tried again, hand dropping to rest on Scott’s chest again. “Scott, it’s just Talia, you have to-”

            Derek saw his mother control herself first, shaking her head and then shifting back easily. She didn’t say anything but her mouth fell open in a rare display of surprise. Rare because his mother was never surprised, she always knew everything and chose to keep it a secret for whatever reason, from the rebellion to his father and who knew what else-

            “Derek!” Stiles ordered. “You’re not helping!”

            He blinked and saw that Scott had taken two steps over, effectively shielding Derek from Talia, red eyes narrowed to slits as he clearly picked up on the anger Derek emitted. Derek shook himself and made an effort to calm down further.

            He watched as Scott’s growl cut off and then he too was blinking back the red in his eyes and staring wide-eyed at Stiles.

            “Fucking _shit_ ,” Stiles breathed, sagging in relief. “Fucking goddamn- You nearly gave me a heart attack! No killing each other!”

            After aiming another glare at Derek and Scott, Stiles turned to Talia.

            “Hey!” he said, clearly going for casual. As if they hadn’t just turned up, uninvited and unannounced on another werewolf’s territory. “We – um – need your help?”

            “What- How?” his mother started, clearly thrown. “What did you do?”

            “It’s a long story,” Stiles said. “But, uh, I think Scott needs to talk to your husband. And Derek needs to talk to you.”

            “This isn’t good,” Talia replied, shaking her head without removing her eyes from Scott. “This is not-”

            “Look,” Stiles interrupted, his voice losing its cautious politeness in favor of something more frank. “We know it’s not good. _Believe me_ , we know. That’s why we need your help. So, please, can we – are you going to help us or not?”

            It was too challenging and too demanding to address an Alpha but Scott had calmed enough to nod from behind him, his eyes somehow conveying apology for both his actions and Stiles’ words.

            “Of course,” Talia said, shock fading to her old briskness. “Of course you can stay here. That’s not what I was talking about.” If anything, she seemed a little offended that they would think she wouldn’t help. Or maybe embarrassed by her earlier display with Scott.

            “Then what’s not good?” Stiles asked, his shoulders already tensing up again.

            “The timing,” Talia replied. “The Alpha Summit is this week.”

            Derek frowned. Every year, the most powerful Alphas from the area met up to discuss any issues that had arisen between the packs, be it border disputes or marriage agreements and obviously his mother and Peter always attended but that might actually make it easier for Scott if another Alpha wasn’t around so it shouldn’t be-

            Talia looked over at him and caught his eye and for a moment it was as if he had never left the pack and she could still read exactly what he was thinking on his face.

            “And it’s taking place here,” she said. “Starting in two days.”

 

**End Part X.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: talk of suicide, mercy-killing, destructive behavior**
> 
>  
> 
> You may have noticed that the chapter count has been upped from 11 to 12. Essentially chapter 12 is written and 11 is half written but had just gotten too long for one chapter. I would love to be done within the week though! And I'm home chilling with my cat so we should be good to go!
> 
> Comments really do make my day! I'd be honored if you take the time to tell me what you think! Here or on  tumblr.


	11. Undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Here's the next one!
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warnings at the Bottom**

**Part XI**

 

            Stiles sometimes forgot that, even with their history, he really did appreciate Talia Hale.

            He appreciated that she swiftly and silently led them to the Secret Hallway of her house and let them sit and tell the story without interrupting too much. He appreciated that all the questions she did ask were short and practical – questions like if they had ever found Gerard and if anyone else at Beacon Hills knew about Scott. He appreciated that she didn’t ask the hard questions, like what the hell they had been thinking or what they were going to do about the leadership of Beacon Hills now that Scott was a werewolf or what they would do if anyone else found out about the fact that Derek had _killed_ someone.

            Of course, he most appreciated the fact that she had, at least outwardly, appeared quite confident that her husband could help Scott learn to control the shift, and until he mastered that, assured them that Deaton had sent enough Mountain Ash that they could ring a spare bedroom and keep Scott contained.

            She had a plan. Maybe it wasn’t the best plan or the most detailed or, really, much more aside from “keep Scott out of sight and hope he learns” but it was… it was what Scott needed to hear. He had a teacher and he couldn’t hurt anyone.

            Stiles had gone and made sure Scott was settled in and now he was back.

            Because the plan should be kept simple for Scott and he’d given her and Derek enough time to talk it out (or at least, he’d watched from the shadows as Derek exited the room) and now it was time to have a more frank discussion. Because like it or not, their timeline was speeding up. Gerard could be anywhere by now. And he clearly didn’t care about keeping Beacon Hills a secret. And if Beacon Hills went down, it wouldn’t be long before Talia Hale and the rest of the Alliance went with them. As much as Scott was trying to get Beacon Hills to be completely independent of any werewolf support, the fact remained that the initial construction and equipment and slaves had to come from _somewhere_ and not even Stiles could control information well enough to keep the Hales safe.

            Stiles didn’t bother knocking when he entered, but she didn’t look surprised to see him. She looked older and tired and when she looked over at him, she sighed.

            “Hi,” he said, fighting the instinct to call her Mistress. Not that it was that ingrained in him but she was still an Alpha and she was Derek’s _mom_ which now made her sort of his… something. He floundered for a second. On their letters, he had just written Talia Hale, which seemed much too formal for in-person conversation, but did werewolves use Mrs. Hale? And, obviously, just Talia seemed too _informal_ especially considering that the last time he’d spoken to her, it had been to essentially yell at her for not helping them.

            And  he hadn’t _really_ talked to her since before Derek had left his pack to follow Stiles to Beacon Hills and join Scott’s. Somehow it was just now hitting him that this might be a little awkward.

            “Stiles,” she said and at least her tone was neutral enough, if not openly welcoming. “I suppose you’re here to yell at me as well?”

            He blinked, surprised. Then opened his mouth and realized he had no idea what to say.

            Because, really, he wasn’t. He was prepared to defend Derek from a lot of things, from the Argents, from others at Beacon Hills who might not approve, from guilt or fear or the seemingly endless pressure that Stiles’ past put on them both but… Stiles didn’t know the first thing about parents. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be angry with Talia.

            “Umm… no,” he replied, looking around as if that would tell him the answer. “I’m here to talk about the Summit.”

            Her eyes raked over him, focusing in that sharp way she had. It reminded him of Lydia, except Talia didn’t bother pretending to be bored. When she focused, you felt it across your skin.

            He appreciated it only in that it refocused him. He couldn’t worry about Derek’s relationship with his mother right now. First, he had to deal with the Summit, then hopefully somehow find Gerard, make sure Scott was learning control, then maybe he could figure out how he was supposed to help with Talia and Derek. And then figure out how to tell everyone Scott had been turned into a werewolf. Then ensure everyone at Beacon Hills was content to keep Scott as their leader. It was all manageable as long as he took one thing at a time. That had always been his strategy. Identify the problem, find the solution. Any solution.

            “I see,” Talia finally responded. As usual, her face was unreadable. It didn’t make Stiles as uncomfortable as it once did. “Would you like to sit down?” She waved a hand at the couch. He hadn’t bothered sitting as Scott explained the situation some thirty minutes ago but he did now.

            He held in a sigh of relief when he sat down but only just. His body _hurt_. Too much walking and too little rest. Maybe when he saw Jenny, he’d ask for some ice or something. He blinked and refocused.

            “So, the Summit,” he started. “Do you think it’s coincidence they had you hold it? I thought the rumors were that the Terrell pack was going to host it this year.”

            Talia inclined her head. “That’s what we thought too. But Deucalion knows that they are loyal to him.”

            “So he is suspicious?”

            “Suspicious enough to arrange to have the Summit here,” Talia allowed. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that he has any real idea what’s going on.”

            “He’s still here,” Stiles said. “That’s not good.”

            “No,” Talia agreed. And then her lips quirked upwards. “Let me tell you what we know.”

            Unfortunately, she didn’t know too much. Despite all the rumors that Kali Terrell would be asked to host, a month ago Deucalion had come to her instead. It was a friendly request, but to turn it down would only bring more suspicion on the pack. All in all, about twelve Alphas and their Seconds would be arriving, taking over the mostly unused wing on the West side of the house.

            “I can tell you the names of the packs coming,” Talia said. “But there is no one that surprising – all the major players plus a few of the smaller packs who are cycled through. None particularly notable this year. Except maybe the Carver pack.”

            “Why are they interesting?” Stiles asked, frowning as he struggled to remember any information he had on them. They must be tiny. He wasn’t sure they were even on the map he had.

            “Well, for one, they are definitely the smallest pack ever to be invited to an Alpha Summit,” Talia replied. “Though, that’s probably because there are _two_ Alphas.”

            “I thought that was impossible.”

            “They’re twins,” Talia explained. “Apparently their Alpha form involves shifting together somehow.”

            Stiles had about a thousand follow up questions to _that_ information, but Talia continued with a small shrug as if it were strange but not fascinating.

            “I hate to say it,” she said. “But we’re playing a defensive game. It’s going to be a challenge just to keep them unaware of our sympathies. And I need Derek to forgive me so I can at least get him up to speed. The girls have been prepping their answers to different questions for weeks now. And he and Scott won’t like it but he smells entirely wrong. He smells like another pack. An _unknown_ pack.”

            “I’ll talk to them,” Stiles promised absentmindedly. Scott would be locked up anyway. He wouldn’t get the chance to whine too much if Derek smelled like his family for a week. “And what if we weren’t?”

            “What if we weren’t what?” Talia asked, frowning. She looked a little like Derek.

            “On the defensive,” Stiles said, leaning forward. “Look, who is supplying the extra slaves?”

            It was common knowledge that slaves were rented out during big parties to help the existing staff. Stiles and Scott had both done it more than once. He assumed an Alpha Summit would be no different. If anything, there would have to be even more slaves to handle the demand.

            “Deucalion is loaning us most of them,” Talia answered. She looked unhappy. “Which is awful as there is no doubt he will be grilling his slaves for any signs of… well, happiness among our staff. We’ve already had to move Simon and Dee out of their shared room and ask Dee not to wear her engagement ring. Jennifer is going to attempt to keep them away from each other.”

            “Perfect,” Stiles breathed. “There’s the weak link. We can make sure that Deucalion only hears the information we want him to hear _and_ we can try to figure out what he’s up to.”

            Talia’s face didn’t change.

            “I’ve told Jennifer and the others to be careful about what they say and try to make it seem like they are treated worse than they are,” she replied. “And Jennifer is always good at listening but-”

            “They won’t be able to fake it,” Stiles said, already feeling the idea forming in his head. “Look, they’re too well fed and happy and it would seem fake if they tried to seem unhappy but- but a known trouble maker? Who you had to have whipped for theft? That’s a slave who could still be causing trouble.”

            Talia was shaking her head. Stiles continued before she could object.

            “And _that’s_ a slave that the others might dare talk to,” he said. “Look, slaves always know more than werewolves assume. Always. And even if Deucalion think he is the one gaining information here, ask the right questions and…”

            He grinned. Talia pressed her lips together.

            “I thought you were staying hidden with Scott,” she said. “He’s not going to be happy with this.”

            Stiles shrugged. Scott would have to deal.

            “Are you sure we can’t just tell Jennifer which questions to ask?” she tried. Stiles rolled his eyes.

            “And risk suspicion falling to her? Or you?” he frowned at her. “And no offense, but Jenny has lived here for a long time. She doesn’t have the right-”

            He struggled for the words. It wasn’t really that there were known codes or sayings across slaves, not if they were owned by different masters, but there was a… a vibe. A common hatred. Jenny didn’t have it. None of the Hale slaves really did.

            But he did. He’d had it since he was ten and his mother died and they’d had to bury her in the middle of the night and be up in time for work the next day. And then Scott had been sold the moment an Overseer had seen him gasping and choking and it was all too easy for Stiles to be sold as well and then there was-

            “She won’t be able to do it,” he finished.

            “You can’t be openly rebellious,” Talia warned but Stiles was well-versed in recognizing the moment a person gave into his ideas. He had this. “They have to think you’re…”

            “Broken,” he said, his mouth twisting around the word. “Yeah, I can do that too.”

            He had plenty of experience with that. With looking at the ground so they didn’t see the hatred shining out of your eyes and bowing and scraping and kneeling and making them believe that they had won and you were nothing.

            He’d learned at twelve that sometimes you had to pretend to be beaten and compliant just to stay alive. He’d learned that glaring and talking back and fucking shit up was only possible to a point and then you had to retreat and regroup. You had to at least fake it.

            And if, years later, you sometimes forgot that it was just pretend, if you really did panic when you couldn’t find the right kind of juice that your master demanded or if you started making sure you were clean because he liked it and then because you needed to get the _feel_ of him off and then it became almost an obsession and you couldn’t stop even when your skin was red and you’d made the bruises worse and it had been hours and you should be asleep and you still weren’t stopping? Well, that was okay too as long as you remembered to pull yourself together later. As long as you fucking spit in his juice as soon as you realized what you’d done and made a point to stop bothering with washing the moment you were sold and he was gone.

            “Okay,” Talia said, nodding her head. “If you’re sure.”

            “I am,” Stiles replied. He could do this. They needed the information and Stiles couldn’t risk suspicion falling to Jenny if she were the one asking questions and-

            He could do this.

            “Alright,” Talia replied. “You know where the uniforms are. I’m setting up all the borrowed slaves in your old room. I would grab a bed in there so there aren’t any questions when they arrive tomorrow.”

            Stiles nodded, standing and heading for the door. He could do this. Hopefully, it was only for a few days. A week at most. Talia had assured him that they rarely went for longer than ten days. Unless there were major disagreements. Or particularly concerning news.

            _Like rumors of a human resistance movement that may be plotting to kill werewolves._

            Neither Stiles nor Talia had bothered saying it aloud, but it couldn’t be coincidence that Gerard’s plan seemed to line up with the Summit. There was no way to know if he was planning for the news to break _during_ the meeting or if he had some way to lure the actual Alphas to his trap but… the puzzle pieces were there. Stiles just had to put them together. It was just a matter of time.

            He was reaching for the door handle when he stopped. He stopped and had the thought and though he _hated_ things like this, it was the least he could do. The only way he knew how to thank her for taking in Scott and giving him all this information and backing his play.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. Because, again, if you connected the dots, it was his fault that Derek found out about his father. Which meant their current rift was his fault too. And if it was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was come between Derek and his family. At least, not more than he already had. He just… he wasn’t worth it.. “About Derek being mad at you. He’ll… he’ll get over it.”

            Talia looked up at him, her face almost confused and for a moment Stiles was worried she hadn’t even heard him, but then her mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

            “You think?” she asked, standing as well. “Because you may not know it – _he_ may not know it – but Derek’s been mad at me for years, Stiles. Ever since I ordered you whipped.”

            “Oh,” Stiles said. He shifted. “Well... I'm sorry about that too.” That didn’t even make sense. He wasn’t even mad at her anymore. He wasn’t _happy_ about it, but he could see why it had been necessary. No point in dwelling on it.

            “Don’t be,” Talia said, her smile turning more genuine. “It’s how it should be. Werewolves do strange things for their mates. I know I did.”

            Stiles flushed. He and Derek had never talked about that in particular, though he supposed they both knew it was true. It was just… how was he supposed to react to Derek’s _mom_ saying it? And saying it was undeniable fondness in her voice.

            “You’re good for him,” she said. Stiles was grateful when she continued and he didn’t have to say anything. What could you even say to that? “You’ve made him a better person. But, I wonder…”

            Another one of her _looks_ ran across him and Stiles felt himself tensing.

            “Would you have told him?” Talia eyes sharpened on him. “Would you have told your children information that could destroy them? Destroy your family? Or would you have kept it hidden? Would you have tried to protect them from the truth?”

            Stiles stilled. Because he could appreciate Talia because he _understood_ her. It made sense not to tell children such a big secret and then… well, sometimes you ended up keeping a secret because there wasn’t a point in coming clean. Sometimes you couldn’t come clean.

            “I,” he started. She’d had so many opportunities. When she told them about the resistance movement or when Derek left to go to Beacon Hills but sometimes you could have all the opportunities in the world but it just didn’t matter.

            “I don’t know,” he finished lamely.

            “Take it from me, Stiles,” Talia said, moving towards the door. “Secrets always come out eventually.”

            She took a breath and then ever so slightly tilted her head up.

            He had learned what the movement meant since Derek came to live with them.

            “I’m here if you ever need anything,” she said. “Take care of him.”

            And then she was gone.

            Stiles blinked after her and then shook himself, frowning.

            That’s what he was trying to do.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Derek wished he could say that his conversation with his mother had made him feel better. He wished that there was some in-depth answer that she could give him that made him forgive her automatically. Some other secret that made all the previous ones make _sense._

            But there wasn’t. There was just a love story and then a human who was turned into a werewolf almost immediately so that they could be together. There was the fear that the kids would blab something out when asked questions by the multitude of visitors they hosted as Talia tried to secure her power as a new Alpha and the knowledge that if other packs found out that his father wasn’t actually from a small pack on the East Coast, they would be destroyed. There was the worry that lies (especially those of children) could easily be picked up by other werewolves and the concern that it would be too confusing.

            And above all, there was the stupid idea that it didn’t really matter and the prevailing tradition that once an Alpha made a decision, the discussion was over.

            _“And then you got older and we- we just didn’t think about telling you,” she said, shrugging. “Everyone was so used to keeping it a secret and there was just… there didn’t seem to be a good reason.”_

_“A good_ reason _!” Derek repeated, shaking his head. A part of him was aware that he had never dared to speak to his mother like this. “What do you mean there wasn’t a good reason?”_

_“Derek.” If anything her calm voice made him angrier._

_“What about telling your kids just because they deserve to know? Or telling because they have_ grandparents _out there? Or what about when you finally told us about the resistance? Or-”_

_He throat closed for a second but then he forced himself to continue._

_“Or what about when I was- when you_ knew _I was starting to have… feelings for Stiles and I thought it was_ wrong _and- and-“ He was so angry, he didn’t even know how to finish that statement._

_Because for months he thought he was crazy, that it wasn’t possible for a human to be his mate, and then he thought he was a monster, and then he tried to convince himself it wasn’t right and his mother_ knew _this whole time that it-_

_“Your relationship with Stiles was always going to be challenging,” his mother interrupted. “You told me yourself he would never agree to become a werewolf.”_

_“That’s not the point,” he said, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes from flashing at her._

_“Your father and Stiles have incredibly different backgrounds,” she continued stubbornly. “Knowing our history would not have helped you. It was always up to you to decide whether or not it would be… appropriate to pursue him.”_

_Derek scowled. A small part of him was relieved to hear her say that, was happy that his father had never been through the things that Stiles had, but it still- it still wasn’t_ right _keeping a secret like that._

_He knew that he probably should direct some of this anger at his father as well, who was equally as responsible, maybe even more so since it was his parents that he had essentially cut out of his life (though, now that Derek thought about it, his dad did used to go on extended trips that weren’t easily explained) but his dad was already with Scott. So he had to content himself with being furious at his mother._

_And he was furious. He was furious because she should have_ told _him and she should have_ known _what that information would have meant to him and, most of all, he was angry because he knew that she would probably never admit it. She probably would never say the words “I’m sorry, I was wrong.” Because she_ never _admitted that she was wrong._

_Sure, she had technically apologized to Stiles for whipping him but it had been surrounded by her reasoning and she had even Stiles convinced that it was somehow necessary and that there was no other way when Derek couldn’t help but think that if she had just told everyone, they could have figured out another way and-_

_“You still should have told me,” he said. “Us.”_

_“Well, we didn’t,” Talia said, annoyance creeping into her voice. She was an Alpha, she didn’t like being questioned. And that’s when it hit him, why he was even more annoyed by this than he should have been-_

_“_ Scott _would have told me,” he hissed, knowing the comparison would hurt her. “He would have told everyone. Because he’s_ honest _.”_

_And then he turned and left the room. He’d said all he needed to say._

            He’d been too angry to even swing by to see Jenny so now he was stuck in his room. And now the anger was fading and he just felt bad. He felt tired and guilty and- annoyed, still annoyed, but more… disappointed.

            Because she was his mother and even if she never apologized, he knew he couldn’t stay mad forever. He would have to see her throughout this week and it’s not like he wanted to cut her out of his life forever. So he would have to move on, even if he couldn’t outright fix it. Soon. Because he hadn’t seen her in months and she was being nothing but supportive of Scott and his relationship with Stiles. And he hadn’t missed the flash of hurt that crossed over her face.

            And it was just stupid to avoid Jenny and the other kitchen staff. Stupid, but he thought that maybe he could let himself off the hook for that one because it was entirely possible that some of Scott’s anger was bleeding over onto him.

            Because right as he made the decision to stop stalking the halls and skip the kitchens to head to his room, Scott and Stiles had started fighting. He knew because Stiles went tight and Scott went hot and concerned and he still wasn’t very good at controlling keeping his emotions to himself.  

            Whatever the argument was, it only lasted ten minutes or so. Well, at least, the actual _argument_ only lasted that long. Scott felt more resigned than agreeable and Stiles hadn’t opened from his defensive ball in Derek’s head. It was absolutely no surprise when he burst into Derek’s room a few minutes later, scowling and already glaring at Derek as if this were his fault.

            “Look,” he said tightly, his hand wrapped around a disturbingly familiar set of clothes. “You’re not going to like this but I’m not staying with Scott this week.”

            “What?” Derek said, the thoughts of his mother flying out of his head. They had talked about this. His mother had said that she could put them both up in two rooms next to each other in the area clearly marked private. Scott was going to work on his control and Stiles was going to be nearby to make sure he was okay. They were both supposed to be _safe_.

            “I’m going undercover,” Stiles explained, frustration still lingering in his tone as he toed off his boots. “As a kitchen slave again. We need to find out what Deucalion is up to.”

            Derek frowned. Stiles had never seemed to care about werewolf politics before…

            “Was this my _mother’s_ idea?” Derek growled before the thought fully formed in his head. It would be her idea to use Stiles to get information just to keep her pack safe, just to keep-

            “Fucking hell, _no_ , Derek,” Stiles said, sounding exasperated. “This was _my_ idea. And it’s a good one. And Scott’s already agreed to it so just-” he waved a hand. “Just get onboard.”

            “Get onboard with _what_?” Derek demanded. “You haven’t even told me what you’re talking about!”

            Stiles huffed but took a breath that was probably meant to be calming. “I’m just going to pretend to be a slave again. Work in the kitchens when Jenny and the others and try to get information out of the rented slaves that will be arriving tomorrow. Information about how much Deucalion knows hopefully or any other changes he’s made to his routine. It’s not a big deal.”

            Derek felt his heart drop. Because Stiles’ heart had skipped a beat. But he knew if Scott hadn’t been able to convince him that it wasn’t worth it, Derek didn’t know what he could say to change his mind. There probably wasn’t anything _anyone_ could say. When Stiles decided to do something, he did it.

            “And I’m not doing it because your _mom_ told me to,” Stiles finished, glaring at Derek for a moment before yanking off his pants and replacing them with the blue ones. “It just makes sense.”

            “Stiles,” Derek tried to keep his voice calm. Calm and objective. He’d already made a mistake by implying this was his mother’s idea. Like Stiles would follow any orders he didn’t want to. “You don’t have to do this.”

            “Of course I do,” Stiles replied, but his voice was tight and angry and he avoided Derek’s gaze.

            “Why?” Derek asked. He knew this would be hard for Stiles. To put on the act of being a slave again. He didn’t understand why Stiles couldn’t just hide out in his room- or in the extra hallway with Scott or- or _anywhere_.

            “Because in all the… craziness,” Stiles said, pulling his shirt over his head. Idly, Derek wondered if there would ever be a time when Stiles could just _say_ what happened – _Scott got shot. He almost died._ Derek doubted it. “We forgot something.”

            “What?” Derek wanted to step forward and wrap his arms around Stiles and just stop him from moving. Just for a second..

            “Gerard and Kate wanted to kill at least twenty werewolves,” Stiles explained. “Maybe more. To do that, they’re would have to be a reason for those werewolves to be that far into the neutral zone in the first place.”

            Derek blinked, confused.

            “You think they were going to…” He frowned. He saw the problem but not the solution.

            “I think they had help,” Stiles said, stuffing his arms through the familiar sleeveless blue shirt. “I think they must’ve been working with a werewolf pack, someone who they planned on double-crossing, maybe, or someone who wanted an all-out war between humans and werewolves just as much as them.”

            He paused to yank the shirt on and Derek didn’t miss his grimace of distaste, though it only occupied his face for a moment.

            “I don’t have it all figured out yet,” Stiles admitted, shrugging one shoulder. At least he seemed to have calmed down slightly while explaining things. “But I won’t find out by hiding in here all day. The…” His face twisted again. “The ‘rented out’ kitchen slaves are a good place to start.”

            Derek frowned. Stiles was right. He hated when that happened.

            “Now,” Stiles said, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Can you do this?”

            “What?” Derek said. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who-”

            He stopped, unwilling to even say it. Stiles was the one who had to act like a slave again. Something he’d barely managed to do in the first place. God, their house was going to be crawling with Alphas, Alphas who would feel it was in their right to order a slave to do anything they wished, who _would be_ in their rights to order a slave punished if they so much as _looked_ at them the wrong way. The moment he had bought Stiles, Stiles was glaring at him with unconcealed hatred and defiance and obviously, _he_ hadn’t cared but an _Alpha_ would and-

            “Dude,” Stiles said and Derek hadn’t realized he’d looked down until Stiles took a step forward into his space again. “I was a slave for eighteen years. I’ve done undercover missions before. I can do this.”

            He paused.

            “I’m just not sure you can.”

            Derek was sure his eyebrows were at the top of his head and he was about to protest, to ask what on _earth_ Stiles meant by that when suddenly-

            Stiles was gone.

            He was still _there_ , still standing in front of Derek, but his shoulders had slumped ever so slightly, his hands carefully folding in front of him, and his eyes were focused on Derek’s feet and-

            “May I get you anything, Master?”

            His voice wasn’t his own. It was flat and dead and-

            “Don’t,” Derek choked, taking a step forward and then flinching back. “Stiles, don’t-”

            Stiles didn’t sound like that. Not when Derek had first bought him or when he’d returned to the kitchen from being whipped…

            The only time he’d sounded like that was when he thought Derek was about to rape him.

            There was a whine raising in the back of his throat when Stiles blinked and reanimated, sliding back into himself as if he’d never left.

            “See?” he said, all playfulness and cockiness, like he hadn’t just replayed one of the worst moments of Derek’s life. “Told ya you couldn’t-”

            “Don’t,” Derek repeated and then he was practically throwing himself at Stiles because Stiles was _Stiles_ again and he was allowed to and- “Don’t ever do that. Don’t go away.”

            “Hey,” Stiles said and Derek’s desperation must have come through in the hug because his voice was softer and his hands reached up to play with the hair on the nape of Derek’s neck in the way that they both knew he liked. “It’s just an act, you know.”

            Derek didn’t agree. An act was something totally different, something unlike anything you’d ever done.

            What Stiles did wasn’t an act.

            It was a shadow.

            But he didn’t know how to explain that so he just squeezed more tightly.

            “Alright,” Stiles said and he smelled fond. Derek breathed in as much as he could. “I think you should just try to stay away from me while the other werewolves are here then.”

            “But, you-”

            _You hate it,_ Derek thought desperately. _I don’t get why you’re doing this or why you can’t have someone else do this and I don’t know what’s wrong and-_

            “You’ll at least sleep here, right?” is what he says instead. He could feel Scott’s emotions as if they were his own. He knew that Stiles had already refused to listen to the Alpha’s suggestions.

            “Well, Talia set the others up in our old room,” Stiles said. “So I have to start the night there. And be there in the morning.”

            Instinctively, Derek’s arms tightened. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t not even see Stiles for however long they were trapped here. It wasn’t- Stile was his _mate_ and it was dangerous and-

            “I can sneak up, though,” Stiles promised. “For a few hours at least.”

            “Don’t do it if it’s dangerous,” Derek said. He was being selfish. He didn’t need to see Stiles. He could do this. If Stiles was pretending to be a slave again than he was perfectly capable of handling this himself.

            Stiles laughed. “Don’t worry. I used to do it all the time when I was stealing your shit.”

            Derek nodded even though the statement didn’t make him feel any better.

            Stiles had gotten caught last time.

 

*^*^

 

            Jenny frowned, feeling a grim sort of satisfaction that she didn’t have to hide her concern and that, in this instance, no one would even dare to ask her what was wrong.

            Not with six strange slaves working in her kitchen.

            If anything, it was good that she was glaring at Stiles’ back. It stayed in character.

            Because in this story, Stiles was the beaten, almost broken, clumsy troublemaker and she was the stern, quiet, strict to the point of cruel Head Cook. And she hated it.

            She hated the tense silence that was only interrupted by the thud of knives as they chopped or the clash of dishes being washed. She hated that no one had laughed in the kitchen for two days now and that Simon and Dee gravitated together only to leap back when they realized what they were doing and flush with guilt. She hated that the borrowed slaves were all timid and terrified and that they adamantly refused to leave the kitchen until all the work was done so she couldn’t even order them all to bed and have some time alone with just _her_ staff and they could re-group a little.

            She hated that because of this, she’d managed to see Derek for all of one night before the other slaves arrived and they were forced into this ridiculous game. He’d come down after midnight on that first day, clearly hoping to catch her and Stiles alone but they were prepping to feed almost thirty werewolves for probably over a week and everyone was still there. Deucalion’s slaves had bowed immediately, which was probably for the best as Dee had completely forgotten the plan and opened her mouth, doubtless, to singsong Derek’s name. Luckily, Stiles had managed to bow and stumble into Dee a little bit, which reminded her, and Jenny had remembered to politely ask what she could do for him. She saw his face go pinched and his eyes go devastated just for a moment, before he took a sharp breath and demanded some watermelon delivered to his room immediately.

            She’d sent Stiles, hoping that the two would take some time to be alone and… relax for a little while. But Stiles had returned within ten minutes and while he shot her the quickest of smiles, the next moment he was back to scrubbing dishes while throwing glances around the room as if to keep tabs on everyone.

            And, really, that was the thing she hated most about this: seeing Stiles. Or, rather, _not_ seeing Stiles. Because Simon and Dee were still _there_ underneath all their acting. They still sometimes grinned at each other or winked at her and in about a week, this would be over and the kitchen would go back to normal. But, Stiles… Stiles flinched when she gave him an order and meekly mumbled “Yes, ma’am” to anything she said and completed any task just a hair too quickly, as if he were worried he would be scolded if he took too long. He acted like he had when he had first arrived at the Hale household, except instead of being silently suspicious and daringly rebellious, he was scared and angry and _hated_ her.

            Even when he broke character, just for a moment, it was only to frown at one of the rented slaves as if they were a puzzle he could figure out, fingers restlessly tapping a rhythm across the countertop. The few times he’d arrange to stand beside her, it was only to mutter a name at her. There was a flash of gratefulness when she arranged to have him and whoever he said at that moment go on an errand that required them to be alone (often out to the garden to get something) but aside from that Stiles was _gone_.

            And, dammit, she _missed_ him when he was away and she wanted to hear all about his relationship with Derek and she had not missed the way he started to rub at his forehead in the evenings. He was working too hard and entirely too thin and looked more exhausted with each passing day and dear god, if she didn’t get out of this silence soon, she was going to _snap_ and-

            “Stiles!” she barked. Practically the whole kitchen flinched. Even Simon and Dee looked concerned. She kept talking though because she thought if she heard him mumble ‘Yes, ma’am?’ one more time, she might smack him. “I clearly asked for _eight_ oranges and you’ve only brought back _six_ and they aren’t even ripe! Do you _know_ what ripe oranges look like?”

            “Uh, um,” For a moment, Stiles looked honestly confused. “I mean, yes, I think-” From behind him, Simon let out a sound that could have been a cough but was more likely stifled laughter.

            “Clearly you don’t,” she snapped. “I’m going to show you. Let’s go!”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Stiles replied, head down, looking for all the world like a properly terrified slave. It did nothing to help Jenny’s mood.

            “The salad better be finished by the time we get back!” she snapped. Simon definitely laughed that time.

            She decided that to glare at him would draw attention the fact that he seemed utterly unworried about her outburst so she settled for sweeping out of the room without a backwards glance. Stiles followed.

            “What is it?” he asked as soon as they were three steps into the empty hallway. “Is something wrong? Did you notice something?”

            As was often the case with Stiles, she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to smack him or hug him. Of course, when she looked over and saw the black eye Stiles was currently sporting (he’d made Simon punch him yesterday “to really sell it”. It was the last time they had all laughed together) and decided on the second option, one of the rented slaves helping with housekeeping walked by. So she was forced to glare and Stiles’ eyes slammed to the ground and she walked a little bit faster to get them outside sooner.

            He matched her pace easily and by the time they were outside, he was staring at her with open concern.

            “Okay, coast is clear,” he muttered, staring around for a second. “Now what-”

            “Stiles,” she said, cutting him off easily. “Nothing is wrong.”

            “Then why-”

            “I’m just making sure-” she stopped herself, realizing abruptly that Stiles probably wouldn’t react well to her concern. At least, the brief visit she’d managed with Scott seemed to point to that fact. Scott had been in an uncharacteristically dark mood and wasn’t bothering to hide his displeasure at Stiles’ plan. Stiles, in turn, stayed quiet and actually exited at the first opportunity, claiming he had a few last minute things to go over with Talia.

            Stiles was already squinting at her in suspicion. Suspicion and maybe a little frustration. He clearly thought he knew where this was going to go.

            “The quiet is driving me crazy,” she said instead, forcing her lips into an easy smile. Well, as close to an easy smile as she got. She wasn’t one for ridiculous grins. “I never thought I would miss Simon and Dee’s constant chatter but… it’s just creepy, isn’t it?”

            She watched as Stiles decided whether or not to be annoyed that she had dragged him away from his work. Because she had no doubt that he saw every minute as an opportunity to gain more information and she also had no doubt that he didn’t buy her flimsy excuse for a moment. She didn’t expect him to. She just put it out there for him to take if he wanted.

            He took it. She saw him take a breath and then some of the tension drained from his shoulders and some of the life came back into his eyes and he didn’t quite smile, but his lips quirked upwards.

            “Yeah,” he said, tilting his face towards the sun. “It is kind of creepy. Though I’m telling Simon and Dee you _love_ when they talk all the time. I’m telling them you love when they bicker too.”

            “You wouldn’t dare,” Jenny told him. “And slow down, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

            For the record, that was a lie. Her knees were just fine, thank you very much. She was not that old. But it provided a good excuse to amble instead of march towards the gardens.

            “Ah, my apologies, old one,” Stiles said and the little bugger was _smirking_ at her now. “I forgot that due to your advanced years-”

            “You are not going to _live_ to your advanced years if you finish that sentence,” she huffed. He laughed at her. And it was the first laugh she’d heard out of him in days.

            And she wanted to ask. She wanted to ask about Derek and Scott and Beacon Hills. She wanted to know everything that had happened from the moment he’d hugged her goodbye and the rumor hit the kitchens that Derek had gone _with him_ and then Cora had arrived to say that Derek had _left the pack_. She’d gotten a few letters (which were tellingly signed from both of them) but she wanted the details.

            She wanted to know that he was okay. That he wasn’t normally so tense and focused and didn't normally give himself headaches every evening.

            But to ask would be to risk shattering the cautious peace of the moment.

            “Did you hear about what Heather and Cora did to Mr. Harris?” she asked instead, assuring herself that it didn’t count as gossip if she kept her voice strictly disapproving the whole time.

            “The banana or the tea bags?” Stiles asked.

            “No, I was talking about the- wait, what did they do to my tea?”

            Stiles laughed and told her the full story as they picked oranges. And it was still over far too quickly and when they re-entered the house, Stiles’ back went stiff again and he managed to look like she had spent the entire trip berating him for being an idiot, but he flashed her the smallest of smiles and Jenny took that as the “thank you” she was sure it was.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles wished he could say that the headache blooming behind his eyes was a new thing. Wished he could say that it was rare and, even if it wasn’t, it would go away quickly and it wasn’t that bad. But, he’d always been prone to headaches, especially when he focused for too long, and he wasn’t sure being punched in the face helped matters.

            And actually, he’d been punched four times in the face as the initial three attempts had really counted. Simon had barely tapped him the first two times, and then Dee had offered to try and managed to land a pretty good punch, even if she screamed as she was doing it. It wasn’t quite enough though so Stiles had had to muse aloud about getting Harris to do it. Luckily, that threat had Simon spouting some speech about “friends not letting other friends get _honestly_ punched in the face,” reeling back and landing a good one. They’d all gone in to eat celebratory ice cream even though Jennifer had been predictably horrified.

            Scott and Derek had also been predictably upset but Stiles managed to calm both of them down and well…

            It had worked. It was working. There would be no chance that Deucalion’s slaves reported back that the Hales were too lenient with their slaves. And, more importantly, it told the other slaves who still hated werewolves. And that got them to start talking. Bit by bit.

            He counted to thirty one last time before getting up slowly. It had been four nights of this and, luckily, all the other slaves seemed to be fairly deep sleepers (of course, that also could be that they were exhausted. Providing three full meals plus a snacks throughout the day to thirty werewolves was a ridiculous feat.)

            For an instant, he thought about stretching out and just going to sleep and skipping going to Derek’s completely, but he’d done that two nights ago. And that meant that he didn’t get to see Derek for almost two days and he’d slept terribly anyway.

            Besides, he should try to stay awake and figure this out. According to Scott (via William via Talia), the talks were going fairly smoothly and this would hopefully all be over in a few more days. Which meant he didn’t have that much time to sort all the pieces out.

            And the precious few clues he had didn’t make much sense. Deucalion’s slaves weren’t particularly interested in werewolf politics. Which was fair because, aside from the larger maneuverings that might one day affect Beacon Hills, he didn’t care either. He hadn’t even bothered getting the full list of attendees from Talia.

            But over the course of four days, he’d learned a few things. He knew that one of the slaves was a gift from the Carver pack to Deucalion, which seemed to imply that the two packs were closer than they seemed. Or might explain why the weak Carver pack was invited to the Summit at all. Or could be completely coincidence.

            He knew Deucalion often hosted dinner with other Alphas, though the kitchen slaves weren’t privy to their names. He knew Deucalion was a cruel master who worked slaves too hard, though that didn’t surprise him. And, just this morning, the youngest, Mary, had whispered that sometimes people just… disappeared. And were never seen again.

            She was convinced that they weren’t just being sold or given as gifts, that there was something more sinister going on and Stiles was inclined to believe her. He just didn’t know what to do with the information even if he _did_ believe her. At least, it didn’t seem to directly tie into the Summit or have any immediate effect on Beacon Hills – unless the missing slaves were somehow escaping. And, really, with Deucalion’s reputation, he highly doubted that. 

            He made it to the door easily, throwing a last glance around the room to make sure everyone was sleeping and then darted into the hallway, blinking in the light. It did not help his headache. But Derek’s room was pretty close, so he just had to stay on his feet for five more minutes and then he could curl up and maybe get Derek to rub his back and sleep for a whole five hours before-

            No. No, he had to figure this out. None of them had mentioned anyone matching Gerard's description the few times he'd risked fishing for information. But the more he thought about, the more certain he was that there had to be a _connection_. He just-

            “Well, well, well,” the voice came from the shadows of a hallway and Stiles’ heart froze before he even realized why. “Look who it is.”

            Stiles recognized the voice. Of course he did- how could he not? It was the cold, empty voice that filtered into all of his worst memories and haunted all his dreams. Even after almost two years, it remained unchanged: slightly lilting, permanently amused, and just… there weren’t really words. It was evil.

            He recognized it. And a part of him knew, even before the werewolf stepped into the light, who it was.

            But it still took seeing the dark hair and crystal blue – _impossibly blue_ – eyes to make him believe it.

            Matt Daehler was standing in front of him.

            He froze. Not only his muscles and his heart and his lungs, but his whole- his brain derailed for a moment and then when he recovered enough to have thoughts, all he could think was:

            _This can’t be happening._

            Matt wasn’t an Alpha. He wasn’t. His uncle was the Alpha and Stiles was such an idiot for not even checking that the Daehler pack would be here and no, no this wasn’t right. This couldn’t be-

            “Why, Stiles, is that any way to greet a guest of your master’s house?” Matt was already grinning at him. Grinning and his eyes were alight with amusement and frantically Stiles tried to work enough spit into his mouth to say something.

            He had to say something. He had to get out of here. This wasn’t two years ago- _he_ wasn’t like he was two years ago. This would be fine. He just had to-

            “Mast-” he started and then stopped. Because it _was_ instinct to call Matt “Master.” Sometimes he screwed up even in his head. But screwing up in his head was safer than risking making a mistake aloud because he had done that once when he was begging for Matt to stop and Matt had proceeded to spend the next _two hours_ making sure Stiles never made that mistake again and he- He had to calm down. He had to stop panicking. “I mean, sir.”

            Bow. He was supposed to bow. And stop staring. He forced his eyes down but couldn’t do the bow. He cringed, waiting for the hit that he knew must be coming but all Matt did was laugh and step closer.

            The amusement didn’t help matters. Matt amused was never a good thing. If Matt was amused it was because Stiles was in pain or was about to be and Stiles was still struggling to remember his lines. Because Matt wasn’t his master anymore. Talia Hale was (or he was pretending she was) and Matt was a guest and he was a slave and-

            “How can I help you?” He meant for his voice to come out casual or maybe even pleasant because he was a slave and Matt was a werewolf and this didn’t have to be a big deal, but he knew he failed. It came out breathless and small and terrified and Matt was still moving closer.

            Stiles took a half step away and then flinched as he hit the wall of the hallway. He must’ve already been moving away without realizing it.

            “You know, I think I might’ve made a mistake selling you,” Matt said conversationally. “All used up and you could still suck my cock down better than anyone else I’ve managed to find.”

            Stiles’ eyes were focused on Matt’s feet but they flicked up at that without his permission. Then he slammed them back down again because Matt’s eyes went hard as they met Stiles’ and the number one rule was to try to keep him happy. Try to make sure he didn’t get pissed off, try to keep it so that Stiles wouldn’t have to tell Scott what had happened, try to seem normal, try to-

            No. No, that was before. Stiles didn’t have to keep Matt happy. Matt didn’t own him He could- Matt was shorter than him an, for a moment, Stiles had the crazy idea that he should run but Matt was stronger than he looked – _all_ werewolves were stronger than they looked – and he knew he wouldn’t make it.

            He’d tried before.

            “I think maybe that’s what I need,” Matt said, nodding to himself. “To start with, at least.”

            “You,” Stiles started, practically seizing when Matt’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. It would be okay. There were rules about this sort of thing. Not necessarily because the law cared about slaves but werewolves cared about territory. Slaves could be considered territory. “You would need special permission for that. Sir.”

            It was common courtesy. You had to ask before you borrowed slaves like that. Matt knew that. Matt had rented Stiles out more than once.

            It was an excuse. It was a good excuse. A wave of something like relief hit him even though it was soon chased away by the feel of Matt’s hand pulling his shirt aside and exposing the claw marked he’d left.

            “I can go- I can go ask Mistress Hale, sir,” Stiles tried, keeping his eyes on the ground. This would work. It would get him out of here. He would go to Derek and Talia would inform Matt that she didn’t approve of such behavior and he would stay in the kitchen and it would all be okay. It would be.

            Matt’s laugh was loud and directly in his ear. Stiles’ fists clenched automatically and he didn’t bother forcing them open. Couldn’t.

            “What makes you think I haven’t already asked?” Matt replied, one finger transforming into a claw and trailing down Stiles’ neck. Stiles swallowed. He was right. Obviously, Stiles knew that Talia would never agree to it but he wasn’t _supposed_ to know that. Not if he were really a slave who was known for being a trouble maker and who had absolutely no reason to interact with the Alpha directly. It’s not like he could _tell_ Matt that he knew the Hales would never agree to it. Not without raising questions of why exactly Talia was interacting with a kitchen slave or why she was unwilling to lend slaves to her guests or why on _earth_ Stiles thought he could get away with refusing.

            It would give away everything. Even struggling would cause too much suspicion, especially since Matt _knew_ Stiles was once well-trained and obedient and-

            “And would it really matter if I didn’t?” Matt finished, his head tilting to the side and his eyes squinting in exaggerated consideration. Stiles’ head jerked, though he didn’t know if he was trying to nod it or shake it.

            It would matter. Matt might think that no one would take the word of a slave, that he could get away with this but he wouldn’t. Talia would believe Stiles and she would use her powers as Alpha and host to destroy Matt as much as she was able. Stiles didn’t know how exactly how effective that would be but-

            It would matter.

            But it wouldn’t matter until after the fact. Until morning.

            Okay. Okay, he could do this.

            He was out of practice but it wasn’t a big deal. No big deal. It would be fine.

            “You- you’re right, sir,” he said, forcing his head into a nod. He could do this. He tried not to stiffen as Matt pressed his whole body against him but he knew he failed. Because Matt inhaled deeply and Stiles knew he only did that when Stiles smelled terrified and it was okay. He was okay.

            “Aw, I knew you missed me,” Matt crooned. His breath was hot on Stiles’ neck.

            It didn't matter. He was okay. He could do this.

**End Part XI.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger: Mention of past rape/trauma symptoms and, yes, Matt is here. It ends on a cliffhanger so nothing happens, but it is upsetting. You could totally skip the last scene and just know that Stiles gets corner by Matt and then start the next chapter if you didn't want to read. Again, nothing too graphic but wanted to warn you!**
> 
> Again, sorry about the wait. There is only one chapter and I only have to write 1.5 scenes in it so I am actually hoping for tomorrow. Tomorrow or Sunday! 
> 
> Thank you so much for hanging with me on this story- I know updates have not been as frequent or as regular as promised. Almost done!


	12. All of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sappy notes shall be saved for the end.
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger Warnings at the bottom**

**Part XII**

            Derek had been shifting restlessly in bed, idly wondering if Stiles wasn’t going to make it up again tonight when he felt it.

            It was a spike of terror so great that it bordered on physical pain and Derek didn’t move right away because all he could do was clutch his head and gasp for breath and then-

            Then he had figured out what it was and where it came from and he was moving to the door, already half shifted because the knot in his head that was Stiles was-

            Well, he wasn’t sure how to describe it. It was unravelling. But not like it was supposed to, not like when Stiles smiled and it loosened and Derek got to feel some of the raw heat that was Stiles’ true personality.

            It was… fraying. Not quite fading like Scott had when he was shot but the tight point was expanding and then struggling to reform and it was _wrong_ and Derek was terrified and though he usually tried to respect Stiles’ privacy, he didn’t hesitate for a moment to put his entire focus on the bond and on finding out _where Stiles was_ because he had to stop this. He didn’t even know what it was but he was going to find out and maybe kill whatever was causing it and-

            He didn’t remember the journey. All he knew was that he turned the last corner sharply and even though he was already shifted something _bubbled_ underneath the surface of his skin as if he could shift _more_ and-

            The moment only lasted a moment because the next he was forcing himself to lean back and hide and attempt to calm down.

            Not that he really could. Because another _werewolf_ had Stiles pressed up against the wall, hand casually curled against one side of his neck while he mouthed at the other side and Stiles had his head tilted and was _letting_ him and _all_ of Derek’s instincts told him to just _kill_ but-

            But common sense prevailed at the last second. Because to kill him would be to cause a scandal and would doubtless blow Stiles’ cover and Scott’s hiding place and Beacon Hills would be discovered and as much as Derek wanted to attack without thinking, he was Stiles’ _mate_.

            Which meant he had to protect the things that Stiles cared about. Which meant he had to calm down and _think_. Just for a second.

            There was more than one way to get Stiles out of this. What this werewolf was doing was breaking a dozen pack traditions and there had to be a way to save Stiles without drawing attention to the fact that he was saving Stiles. He just had to-

            _It’s just an act_.

            It was just an act- an act and it wasn’t that Derek actually felt any calmer, but by force of will, he forced himself out of his shifted form. Forced himself to take one deep breath and arrange his face into a scowl that looked merely annoyed rather than murderous and-

            “What are you _doing_?” he growled, spinning around the corner angrily. At least the angry part was easy enough. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to do the rest.

            The werewolf stepped back, smirking, and had the audacity to _wipe his mouth with the back of his hand_ and-

            “Just enjoying some late night Hale hospitality,” he said and Derek didn’t recognize who he was – he must be a Second of one of the smaller packs, though really Derek was having a hard time concentrating on the entire Summit so his lack of knowledge wasn’t exactly surprising.

            He would bet the man wasn’t an Alpha merely because a Beta, even a Second, could be distanced from his Alpha, maybe publically reprimanded, and sent away without it being an official inter-pack scandal. An Alpha abusing another Alpha’s territory like this would almost be considered an act of war.

            “Not you,” Derek said. Alpha or not, he couldn’t risk insulting another werewolf. Derek was still just a Beta and, even if this was supposed to be his territory, it wasn’t. His mother wouldn’t even know something was wrong right now. Even the fact that she wasn’t arriving to help him if this became an open challenge would look suspicious. “Him.”

            He pointed a finger at Stiles, trying to making enough eye contact so that Stiles could see what he was trying to go for here. He just needed Stiles to play along and Derek could get him out of here. They just had to act.

            Stiles had been doing it all week. He was the first Hale slave to remember to bow when Derek made the mistake of trying to visit after dark and Derek had seen him scurrying around the halls as if he were nervous of his own shadow and Derek’s awareness of him had shrunk to practically nothing. If the concerned looks that Scott threw around his room whenever Derek snuck away to see him were any indication, Scott could barely feel Stiles as well.

            Stiles could do this. It was Derek who was going to mess it up. At least, that’s what Derek assumed.

            But Stiles didn’t seem to be responding, not immediately anyway. He was still pressed to the wall, eyes locked somewhere on the other werewolf’s feet and-

            “You were supposed to be in my room twenty minutes ago,” Derek said, stepping closer. Maybe Stiles didn’t quite realize it was him yet. And Derek needed him to figure it out because the other werewolf was frowning. Suspiciously.

            “Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes calculating. “I thought the Hale Pack didn’t-”

            He cut off as Stiles slid to his knees. The werewolf’s eyes lit up and stared at him almost hungrily.

            “I- I’m sorry, Master,” Stiles said and Derek had to clamp down on a whimper at the sound of Stiles’ voice. It was tight and terrified and it didn’t contain any of the relief or maybe awareness that Derek had hoped it would. It just sounded scared.

            _An act_ , Derek tried to assure himself. Stiles wasn’t scared of him, he was just acting and Derek had to keep on acting and-

            “I got held up, Master,” Stiles continued, his eyes never leaving the floor. “Please forgive me.”

            “You’ll make it up to me,” Derek said, feeling slightly sick but hoping it came across as menacing somehow.

            There. That was it. They could leave.

            “Sorry about the confusion,” he told the werewolf. “This one isn’t-”

            “You don’t have him very well trained yet, do you?” the werewolf interrupted, smirking. “He should be on the _ground_ begging your forgiveness. That wasn't begging.”

            “If I wanted-” Derek started, thrown by the familiar tone and the message that filtered into his head a few beats late as Derek wasn’t paying this werewolf any attention, too busy trying to get Stiles to look at him somehow.

            “And look at this,” the werewolf continued and then to Derek’s horror, he took Stiles’ chin in one hand and forced his face up. Derek _felt_ a spike of horror through his head at the movement. And then one thumb came up to press on the bruise that covered the left side of Stiles’ face. Derek didn’t miss Stiles’ sharp intake of breath. “Still relying on physical punishment?” He shook his head. “It won’t work. Stiles here doesn’t care about that at all but there are other methods that are much more… effective.”

            Stiles _shuddered_. The werewolf looked down and grinned as he felt the movement and Derek desperately tried to rearrange his face into something that wasn’t horrified. Because it was just now hitting him that the werewolf knew Stiles’ name and that meant he wasn’t random and _this_ wasn’t random and-

            “Who _are_ you?” Derek asked and he didn’t think he did a good job of keeping his voice confident and angry. It came out too concerned. Too wrecked.

            “Me?” The werewolf asked and he was still looking down at Stiles. “Matt. Second to the Daehler pack.”

            Daehler Pack. Frantically, Derek tried to remember everything about them- smaller, yes, but popular, especially among Deucalion’s inner circle and he thought he had heard rumors that they were trying to expand, no longer allowing anyone to marry out of the pack and-

            “I’m the one you should be thanking for all the little tricks Sticks knows,” Matt continued. “Have you gotten him to do the thing with his tongue and his fingers yet because let me tell you, that took _training_ and-”

            Matt kept talking but Derek stopped listening. Because that’s when the first name finally registered. Matt.

            Matt was the word that sometimes escaped Stiles’ lips when he was in the grasp of a nightmare, Matt was the name that Stiles had once mentioned when he had to ask Derek to stop kissing him – _“Matt – one of them used to do that whenever he finished” –_ Matt was- he was-

            Matt was still touching Stiles, the hand used to jerk his head to the side still there, his thumb sliding down to swipe across Stiles’ lips.

            “ _Get off him_ ,” Derek snarled, taking a step forward and jerking Matt’s hand aside. It didn’t make him feel any better that Stiles flinched away from the movement. And Matt hadn’t taken kindly to being pushed away, his eyes flashed – still a blue color, only brighter in the darkness – and Derek felt his eyes flash in response.

            “He’s _mine_ ,” Derek said, threading his hands through Stiles’ hair. It was supposed to be comforting but Matt’s eyes flicked towards the movement and so Derek forced his hand to tighten slightly, hoping it looked worse than it was, and pushed Stiles head back down.

            “Okay, okay,” Matt said, eyes glinting with amusement, though he took another step back. “I get it. You’re possessive about your playthings.”

            Derek barely stopped his eyes from flashing again at that statement. As it was, he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists again, including the one still resting on Stiles’ head. There was a tiny stab of pain through the bond and Derek jerked his hand away when he realized what he’d done but-

            He had to get out of this. He was going to snap. He was going to snap and challenge Matt formally or maybe just kill him- just sink his claws into Matt’s throat like he had done to Kate and he hadn’t even thought about it when he did it to her but he was thinking about it now and he could do it. He _would_ do it. He wouldn’t even feel particularly bad about it.

            “You don’t have to be, though,” Matt continued, stepping closer to Derek now. “He could handle both of us, I think. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Stiles?”

            Derek couldn’t speak – his fangs had extended into his mouth. They had to get out of there.

            Unfortunately the pause meant that Stiles blinked and looked up. For just an instant. Just long enough that Derek could see the terror that was somehow _flat_ in his eyes.

            “What- whatever would please my mast-”

            “I don’t share my things,” Derek finally growled. Matt held his eyes for a long moment before stepping back, the grin sliding from his face.

            “Fine,” Matt replied, curling his lip in distaste. “Have fun with my leftovers.”

            It was an insult- this whole goddamn conversation had been an insult – and Derek wanted to challenge him or maybe just hit him but more than that, he wanted-

            “Let’s go,” he ordered Stiles and then while Stiles didn’t move right away, he reached and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. Because they had to get out of here. He couldn’t do it any longer. “You have work to do.”

            Matt was still watching them and Derek knew it was customary for slaves to walk a few steps behind and he couldn’t risk that. He had to know Stiles was okay. So he went for the most possessive stance he knew and curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck as he propelled him forward. Hopefully it would be enough to keep Matt away from Stiles permanently, though Derek was going to see to it that he never even had the _opportunity_ to touch Stiles again. Not even for a second.

            They had walked up one flight of stairs and turned down two hallways when Derek finally let some of the tension out of his arm.

            Stiles must’ve sensed the change because the next second he was breathing way too fast and his scent had spiked to one of panic and he was _shaking_ and-

            “Stiles,” Derek tried, pulling them both to a stop quickly and going to stand in front of him. “Stiles, it’s okay. It’s over. He’s gone.”

            Stiles was pale and shaking and, frantically, Derek tried to pull any pain out of him but there _wasn’t_ any, not physical at least, and he could stop a growl that rose to his throat, already regretting let Matt go. He shouldn’t have. Matt had hurt _Stiles_ and-

            “Get _off_ me,” Stiles snarled and Derek blinked in surprise and must not have obeyed fast enough because the next instant, Stiles had shoved him hard enough that he stumbled back a few steps and all the anger drained out of him as if it had never been.

            In its wake was a dull sense of panic. Of _wrongness._

            Oh god, Stiles must not even really know who he was.

            “Stiles,” he said again, willing himself not to raise his voice. “It’s me. It’s Derek. I just-”

            He took a slow step forward and then his head snapped backwards.

            Because Stiles had _punched_ him. Hard but the little ping of pain that jolted through his head was from Stiles’ hand, not his face and oh god, this was all a mistake.

            “You- you stay away from me,” Stiles growled, his voice low and angry and scared. “You- you said you wouldn’t- you-”

            He cut off, gasping for air and that’s when it finally hit Derek:

            Stiles knew exactly who he was.

            He knew who Derek was and he knew Derek had touched him in ways that Derek had promised _never_ to do and maybe eventually he would see that it was an act, that it had been necessary but Derek didn’t think that meant Stiles would ever _forgive_ him.

            Or trust him.

            Oh god, he’d forced his head _down_ and pulled his hair and-

            And curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ _neck_ , which he never dared to do. Not even when they were curled up in bed or making out against the side of Lydia’s library or stealing a kiss behind Scott’s back as he rambled about animals and he’d just _done_ it.

            They had already been making their escape at that point. It hadn’t been a necessity. He just- He didn’t-

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said, holding up his hand in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner even though every instinct he had wanted to go wrap Stiles in his arms. “Stiles, I’m sorry- I just- I had to get you away from him. I didn’t mean to.”

            He wasn’t sure Stiles could even hear him over his gasping breaths. Derek didn’t know if it was a panic attack or maybe just something similar but he-

            “We should get to my room,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice level. One of them had to remain calm. His voice had been getting louder with his own panic and he had to just remain calm and _explain_ this.

            “You weren’t supposed to,” Stiles gasped again. “Don’t- don’t touch me.”

            “Please,” Derek said. “I know. I won’t.”

            Stiles screwed his eyes shut, waving a hand that Derek took to mean _shut up_ and then all Derek could do was watch as Stiles slowly pulled himself together.

            At least, eventually his breaths slowed to a manageable level and he risked opening his eyes again.

            “Go to sleep,” Stiles finally said, his eyes not quite meeting Derek. “I’m sor- I’m going to Scott’s.”

            “Stiles,” Derek started but by the time the word was out of his mouth, Stiles was gone.

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles had to stop two times on the way to Scott’s to lean against the wall and attempt to catch his breath. And then he tried to take an extra moment to pull himself together before he slid open Scott’s door because he was okay. He was okay and nothing had happened and Derek was just trying to help, he knew that and-

            When he opened the door to Scott’s room, he realized that all his attempts to look somewhat normal were in vain.

            Because Scott’s eyes were glowing red and he was pacing back and forth as if caged and there was fucking _blood_ around his finger nails and-

            “Holy shit!” Stiles said, stepping over the threshold. “What did you _do_?”

            “What did- what did _I_ do?” Scott said, sounding almost manic. “Stiles, what did _you_ do? You were tired and fine- well, as fine as you normally are – and then you just- you just _broke_ or something. What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”

            Scott accompanied the words by moving forward and grabbing Stiles by the arms, inhaling as if he could _smell_ what was wrong and-

            “I’m fine,” Stiles said, something in his chest loosening. “I’m fine. Dude, how did- there is _blood_ on your hands.”

            “Tried to get out of the mountain ash,” Scott muttered, still scanning over Stiles’ body as if there was a wound he wasn’t seeing. “I got close. I think I could have done it.”

            Stiles blinked, surprised, and glanced backwards. He wasn’t an expert but he thought that maybe the ash line did look a little faded.

            “Oh,” he said, a little bit stumped as to what to do. Mountain Ash wasn’t supposed to _fade_. “Oh, well, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

            “What happened?” Scott asked and then frowned. And inhaled. “And you’re not okay. There’s blood on _your_ hand. You- you- Stiles I can _feel_ you now. Everyone. And you- what happened?”

            “It’s nothing,” Stiles tried and knew from the glare that Scott directed at his heart and then his face that he was well-aware Stiles was lying. “It’s nothing- I just…”

            He suddenly realized that this was a mistake. Coming to see Scott so soon.

            Because he was aware that he was barely hanging on and even without his new superpowers, _Scott_ would be aware of it and he didn’t- couldn’t-

            “Matt’s here,” he admitted. And he couldn’t help how his heart jumped at the statement. Oh god, Matt was _here_. Stiles had seen him and Matt had touched him and-

            He shouldn’t have come here. He should have gone to a bathroom and taken a shower. He should have-

            “ _Matt_ ,” Scott growled and Stiles realized abruptly that even though he didn’t know all of it, Scott knew enough to hate Matt. Because there was no hiding Matt’s sadistic streak, not when he often directed it at all the slaves, Scott included, and there was no hiding that he had taken a special interest in Stiles, even if Scott wasn’t fully aware of what exactly that “interest” entailed.

            And, of course, there was no hiding the fact that one day, he’d torn Stiles open one day for no particular reason and Stiles suspected he’d almost died. Not that he remembered or that Scott had ever told him directly but… but he hadn’t missed the way Scott’s eyes clung to him for days afterwards.

            “It’s okay,” he said, watching as Scott’s jaw clenched. “He- he didn’t do anything, he just… it was just a surprise. Seeing him.”

            Scott looked doubtful and Stiles told himself he could do this. If he kept this casual, Scott didn’t have to know any of the details.

            He’d kept this secret for almost three years now. It wouldn’t come out now.

            “Did he _try_ to do anything?” Scott demanded, eyes blazing. “I can’t believe- he would need a _reason_ and _permission_ to discipline another werewolf’s slave.”

            “No,” Stiles said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “No, he didn’t-” Unbidden, the feel of Matt’s claw running down his neck returned and he flinched before settling. “He didn’t do anything, Scott. Just- Derek showed up so… it’s fine. No big deal.”

            He could do this. Just had to keep it casual. Keep his voice light. Shrug and smile and this wasn’t a big deal. Nothing had even _happened_.

            “You’re lying,” Scott said and he actually stepped back, tilting his head in confusion. “Why are you lying?”

            “Fuck,” Stiles muttered, hoping he sounded more annoyed than terrified. “C’mon, Scott, I’m not _lying,_ I just-”

            This was a mistake.

            “Yes, you are,” Scott said, his voice raising just slightly. “And it _was_ a big deal, Stiles. You went- you were _panicking_.”

            “Look,” Stiles tried going for firm. “It was just a shock. I just panicked a little bit- the guy did once claw me open, Scott.”

            Scott didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked even more certain that Stiles was lying. Stiles kept talking. That was what he did. He would keep talking and eventually Scott would laugh and this would all be over. It could be done.

            “I actually have to go,” he said, jerking one hand towards the door. “I just came by to make sure you were okay and, clearly, you are, so I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

            “Stop,” Scott said and his confusion was melting into something like anger. “Just _tell_ me, Stiles. What is it about Matt? Why did you panic like that? And who did you punch? Did he say something to you? Threaten you?”

            “Shut _up_ ,” Stiles snarled and it was almost a relief that all the panic in his belly suddenly turned to anger. “Just, fuck, Scott, just _leave it_. Fucking-”

            His hands were shaking again and he knew Scott noticed because his eyes flicked downwards and he was a _werewolf_ now and werewolves noticed _everything_ and Stiles couldn’t -

            “Stiles,” Scott took another step closer. He was moving slowly. Deliberately. “What are you hiding?”

            “No,” Stiles growled and maybe he knew it was wrong, that this was _Scott_ but the rush of anger that rose in his chest had his whole body flushing. He stayed absolutely still, muscles tense, jaw clenched. “No, you don’t get to ask me that.”

            It wasn’t that he couldn’t do this right now. It wasn’t that it was too much in this moment, that he was still too keyed up from seeing Matt and oddly shaky from seeing _Derek_ act that way. It wasn’t that.

            It was that he couldn’t _ever_ do this.

            Scott couldn’t know.

            And not because he didn’t want Scott to feel more guilty than he already did or because he wanted to protect Scott from the realities of life or because he wanted something- just _one thing_ – that was fucking _private_.

            It was simply because _Scott couldn’t know_.

            Derek knew and, because he was a fucking idiot, Lydia knew and Chris knew and, on some level, he was afraid that Mrs. McCall knew and maybe Jenny and, fuck, Kate had known so Gerard knew ( _You little whore, you littlewhore, youlittlewhore_ ) and Matt and Brunski and-

            Too many people. Too many people knew about him. About what he was.

            Scott couldn’t be one of them.

            It had been a mistake. Coming here.

            He turned to the door.

            “Stiles,” Scott said and it was his Alpha-voice. Even before he was a werewolf, it was the soft, serious voice that Stiles had grown up obeying instinctively.

            He wasn’t going to wait around for the order. He kept moving, one hand reaching and grabbing the door, ready to slide it so as not to disturb the Mountain Ash line and-

            Scott’s hand was suddenly there, holding the door in place and then the other was fisting in Stiles’ shirt – the blue one that Stiles _hated_ – and holding him in place.

            “No,” Scott said and his eyes were bleeding red. “No, we’re not going to do this anymore.”

            “Do what?” Stiles demanded, shoving Scott’s arm off of him. It flew away for only a moment before it was back. Stiles stared down at it, a part of him shocked, more of him angry that Scott would actually _grab_ him and hold him in place.

            “ _This_ ,” Scott snapped and his fist tightened. Stiles felt the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. “This _thing_ where you do whatever _you_ think is best and hide things from me and _let yourself get hurt._ You can’t do it anymore.”

            “What are you _talking_ about?” Stiles asked, making a half-hearted attempt to open the door. It didn’t budge. Scott didn’t even look like he was trying with his new Alpha strength.

            “I’m talking about _you_ ,” Scott said and the anger in his eyes had dimmed into a kind of concerned determination. “You’re… you’re always getting _hurt_ and you don’t seem to understand that I can’t- you- it needs to stop. I won’t let you do this anymore.”

            “Oh yeah,” Stiles shot back. “And what are you gonna do about it? You gonna stop me?”

            He made it a challenge, a taunt, and maybe there was a part of him that hoped Scott’s temper would snap. The conversation would be over if Scott hit him.

            _Wrong_ , a part of Stiles’ brain was screaming. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

            This was all wrong. He and Scott didn’t fight. They whispered to each other even when they were supposed to be silent and made up secret hand signals to use behind their owners’ backs and stitched each other up and held each other when there was no one else and- They didn’t do this. They didn’t fight.

            Apparently Scott had the same thought because the next second the anger had drained from his face and it had gone soft and sad and the hand curled in Stiles’ shirt loosened.

            “Stiles,” Scott said and his eyes were _hurt_. “Please. Just- just _tell_ me.”

            “No,” Stiles said and took advantage of the moment to shove Scott back. He’d never shoved Scott before in his life.

            A part of him recognized the shoving a barely controlled, newly formed Alpha werewolf was a bad idea. He wasn’t even surprised when Scott’s eyes flashed red and his mouth twisted into a snarl.

            He didn’t lunge forward to grab Stiles’ though. But his hands clenched at his sides and when he spoke his voice was soft and deadly quiet.

            “You’re going to tell me.”

            Stiles shook his head mutely. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach though. He didn’t move for the door again. He knew what would happen if he did.

            “You’re going to tell me and I’m going to help.”

            “There’s nothing to tell,” Stiles tried.

            He was going about this all wrong, he realized. He should beg Scott to stop asking, should promise to tell him later when he wasn’t upset, he should just calm down and _think_ for a second.

            But his chest was heaving and he was just too _angry_ \- at Matt, at Derek, at _everything_ and-

            “Stop lying.”

            Stiles clenched his jaw.

            “You can’t help,” he managed, hoping Scott could hear the truth of that.

            “Yes I can.”

            Scott said it was such certainty. With the same _stupid_ naivety that he said everything. As if he honestly believed he could make the nightmares disappear or go in an magically _fix_ everything that was wrong with Stiles because he’d let werewolves fucking _take_ whatever they wanted.

            Fuck, he’d been the one to set it up the second time. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe a part of him did like it.

            “You can’t help, Scott,” he snarled, loud enough to shut down the memories that started replaying. “You can’t- there’s nothing. Just _leave it_.”

            “No,” Scott said and he was moving closer again. “No, I’m not going to ‘just leave it.’ I’ve been- I been fucking ‘leaving it’ for _years_ because you never wanted to talk about it and I never wanted to upset you and I- I deserve to know what happened, what you did in order to help me.”

            Scott was too close again. Stiles had to say something to get him to back away.

            “ _Fine_ ,” he snarled, unaware that he was going to say it until he did. “Fine. You want to know? You want to _help_?”

            He was the one to take a step forward now, barely stopping himself from shoving Scott back again. Because Scott was glaring right back at him, eyes red and determined and angry and-

            “I let Matt fuck me for over a year,” he said. He meant to stop at that but he didn’t. “It only stopped because he got bored and clawed me open even though two minutes before I was on my knees sucking his dick. And it didn’t even make sense because I had been being _good_ and I didn’t even deserve-”

            His throat closed and Scott’s face went white. Stiles didn’t care. He dragged in a breath and barreled on.

            “And then we left and came here and after stealing shit didn’t work, I went right back to it.” What came out of his throat wasn’t a laugh but he couldn’t have said what it was. “You needed an inhaler and we needed money and there were twelve of them- thirteen if you count Brunski and he was multiple times and one of them liked me to say I fucking _loved_ it and I did.”

            He had to stop for a breath then. Scott had moved away, stepping back in horror and his face was ashen and he was shaking his head and the ugliness that Stiles tried to hide away was still spilling everywhere.

            “I fucking _begged_ for it so- so just- just go on then, _help_.”

            He spat the last word. Made it mocking and low and _mean_ and-

            “Stiles,” Scott said and his voice was soft and scared and the red had leached from his eyes. “You- you-”

            “I – what?” Stiles said. “I wouldn’t? I couldn’t? Well, I _did_ , Scott. And, you know what?”

            “Stiles, please,” Scott tried. Maybe he knew what was coming. It didn’t matter. Stiles wouldn’t be stopped now.

            “I would do it again,” he growled, taking a step forward before he checked himself. “In a fucking _heartbeat_.”

            He met Scott’s eyes head on. He saw the horror there, saw Scott’s eyes glance towards his chest for the briefest second, but he already knew his heart beat would be perfectly steady.

            Because it was the truth. It was the truth that Stiles knew with every fiber of his being. It was the truth that Scott never wanted to know.

            For a moment, it hung between them. Heavy and ugly and-

            “No,” Scott said into the stillness. He looked down and then away and then at his hands  which were cutting through the air. “No, that’s not-”

            “It _is_ true,” Stiles interrupted. He appreciated that they weren’t looking at each other anymore. It gave him the opportunity to glance up and try to calm down. He wasn’t angry any more but he wasn’t stable either. He was… fuck, he just- “So you- you can’t help and you can’t kill yourself and you can’t die because I-I keep you alive, Scott. That’s my _job_ and you- you have to let me do it.”

            He didn’t risk looking way from the ceiling. Couldn’t. To look away would be to look at Scott and see the horror and _disgust_ there and this wasn’t supposed to happen, Scott wasn’t supposed to know and –

            Scott hit him hard enough that the breath was driven from his body and Stiles didn’t quite register it as a hug until he recognized the familiar pressure of Scott’s arms wound tightly around his body. He was squeezing hard enough that Stiles thought he might bruise but it was _Scott_ and-

            “I’m sorry,” Scott sounded panicked. Desperate even. “St- I’m so _sorry_.”

            Stiles opened his mouth to tell him that it was okay. That it was worth it and he was fine and _they_ were fine and Scott didn’t need to be sorry. He opened his mouth to try to make it better.

            “He- he’s _here_ ,” is what came out instead.

            And suddenly Stiles was clinging just as much as Scott was because it was hitting him that Matt was _here_ , that Stiles had _seen_ him and Stiles was _terrified_. He was scared in all the ways that he never allowed himself to be, not even when he was fucking _living_ through it and he said he would do it again and he _would_ but he didn’t- he wasn’t sure if he _could_ do it again and -

            He thought he was done with that but Matt was here and that meant it wasn’t over.

            “Stiles,” Scott started and his voice was low and urgent and Stiles interrupted anyway.

            “He- I- I was being _good_ ,” Stiles said and his voice caught. He had been kneeling and taking it and trying to swallow everything and when Matt had pulled out suddenly and shoved Stiles down hard and it had been eighteen months and Stiles hadn’t even protested or complained like he used to. “I didn’t even deserve- I was being good.”

            They’d been sold two days later, when Stiles had managed to stay awake long enough for Matt to sneer down at him and declare him used up and Scott managed to work himself into an asthma attack and then the auction had happened and then _Derek_ had happened and Stiles had never really _thought_ about it.

            About the rough hand that yanked him up, that he assumed was just getting him off all fours to start back up again or maybe going to toss him onto the bed, about the dull sense of horror as Matt’s claws had suddenly extended and then dug in, about the ripping, tearing pain and screaming and trying to get away and-

            Scott was whimpering, somehow holding him tighter and Stiles pressed closer shamelessly, giving up on trying to hold back.

            “I was being go- I-I d- don’t get it,” he admitted, gasping. “I don’t understand _why_.”

            He didn’t understand why it was him or why it was _them_ or why everything had just… _happened_ and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t move past it.

            He stopped and tried to suck in a full breath and when that didn’t work, when his breath hitched and his body just started to shake harder, he made a half-hearted attempt to move away but he didn’t think Scott even felt it.

            “I don’t know either,” Scott whispered. “I don’t – Stiles, I can’t. I’m so _sorry_. I should’ve known and done something and I’m so sorry and I’m not going anywhere, I _promise_ and, Stiles, I can’t-”

            Stiles shook his head, unable to tell Scott that he didn’t need to be sorry because his throat was still closed and he wasn’t really capable of saying anything right then and neither was Scott apparently because for a long time they both simply clung and shook and tried to get impossibly closer and-

            “I’m sorry,” Scott continued eventually. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you t-tell me like this and I didn’t – you can’t ever do this and- it’s over. I promise it’s over. I’ll-”

            “No,” Stiles managed. “No, Scott, it’s me- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

            “No,” Scott interrupted. “No, Stiles, this was not your fault. Okay. It wasn’t. This was- those fuckers are _evil_ and I’m going to-”

            “No,” Stiles said. “No, not for that.” He wasn’t sorry for that. Sorry it had happened, maybe and maybe sorry he had hid it for so long but he- even now he didn’t _regret_ it.

            “I’m sorry I turned you into a werewolf,” he mumbled, not risking pulling back to see Scott’s face. Because that was- he knew that Scott-

            He knew that he and Scott hadn’t been right since it happened. It had been all tense conversations and purposeful avoidance and it was Stiles’ fault but he needed – he needed _Scott_ right now and so he gave the apology and-

            It was the apology that he should’ve said weeks ago, the apology that he had been avoiding because he thought that saying it would mean that he regretted saving Scott’s life, which he _didn’t_ but he-

            He did regret that he’d had to turn Scott into a werewolf to do it. He regretted that it had changed Scott’s personality and that Scott couldn’t control it and that Scott didn’t have any say in it. Because he knew what it was like to not have control over your own body and he’d tried for weeks now to convince himself that it wasn’t the same but- but Scott _hated_ it. Stiles saw it every time that Scott’s shoulder slumped after he snapped at someone and every time he flinched away from his reflection in the mirror and every time he sighed as he took a deep breath. So Stiles regretted it.

            Sure, he also regretted that he hadn’t even considered the implications for a minute, regretted that Scott might have to give up his role at Beacon Hills, regretted that they might have to give up the one place that they had both considered “safe,” but mostly…

            Mostly, he regretted that there was no part of him that was strong enough to live in a world without Scott. He regretted that he would make the same decision every time if there was even the slightest chance that there would still be a version of Scott in the world. He regretted that-

            Scott released him and pushed him back almost roughly and Stiles cringed, waiting to hear the torrent of anger that he knew Scott must be feeling, must have been holding back for weeks; waited for the blame and judgement and-

            “Stiles,” Scott said, his hands gripping Stiles’ shoulders. When Stiles looked up, it was to see that Scott’s eyes were locked on his own. “Don’t- I’m not mad at-

            “I would have done the same thing,” Scott said. His hands were clenched hard enough to bruise. “Do you hear me? The same- _the same fucking thing._ ”

            Before Stiles could react, he was pressed against Scott’s chest once more and he hadn’t thought it was possible for Scott to hold him any tighter but he was and something loosened in his chest and-

            “That’s what you don’t get,” Scott said. “I would have-”

            He sounded urgent and desperate and sad and-

            “All of it,” Scott finished. “I would have done all of it.”

 

*^*^*^

 

            Stiles didn’t know how long they spent clinging to each other. He didn’t know when he stopped crying. He wasn’t sure Scott had.

            But, eventually, he took a deep breath without Scott shaking his head and pulling him closer and eventually he took a step back.

            Scott’s eyes were red and he still looked… older. As if he’d aged years.

            And then his eyes switched back to their normal brown, but he still suddenly looked predatory. Predatory and angry and Stiles knew the question before it even left Scott’s mouth:

            “Do you want me to kill him?” he asked. And he looked completely solemn and serious and Stiles knew he _was_ completely serious, despite all previous statements against the killing of werewolves, and for a moment, just a moment, Stiles considered it.

            The answer was yes. He wanted Matt to be dead and he wanted Matt to _know_ it was Stiles who arranged it and he wanted Matt to look up at him with _terror_  in his eyes just like Stiles had done for over a year and he wanted to hurt him and see the body and _make him pay_.

            For a moment, the answer was yes.

            But then the moment passed. And Stiles remembered that to do that was to put Scott at risk and the Hales in danger and to risk Beacon Hills and-

            It wouldn’t help. Not really.

            “No,” he said, shaking his head. Maybe one day. But not now. He was tired. “I just… I want to go home.” He couldn’t do this anymore.

            Scott stared at him for a moment and Stiles idly wondered if his heart had skipped a beat, if Scott knew that a part of him was lying but eventually Scott nodded.

            “Okay,” Scott said, voice hoarse. “We’re leaving. I don’t care what Talia has to tell anyone who asks. We’re not staying here.”

            Stiles opened his mouth to argue and then jerked his head in a nod instead.

            Leaving would be good. He didn’t want to see Matt again. He wanted to go home.

            He was _exhausted_.

            And he still had to deal with Derek.

            “Th- the shift?” he asked, glancing at Scott.

            “I can control it,” Scott answered. “William told me everything I need to know.”

            “In five days?”

            “I’ll figure out the rest. And I still have two weeks at least. It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.”

            For once, Stiles accepted that.

            “Okay,” he said, taking in a breath. “Okay, I guess I’ll…”

            “Dude,” Scott said and it was relief to hear him sound at least semi-normal. When Stiles looked up, there was even a shadow of his old smile – all encouragement and hope and excitement. Instinctively, Stiles felt better. “Go talk to Derek. It’ll be fine.”

            “I punched him,” Stiles admitted, pulling up his hand to look at it. He punched Derek hard enough to break the skin on his knuckles. He hadn’t noticed as presumably Scott was leeching any of his pain while they hugged but his fingers were bloody and doubtless they would be bruised tomorrow and even though Derek would have already healed, it still felt like he had crossed a line.

            Scott barked a surprised laugh. “It’s okay,” he promised. “I did that once too.”

            Stiles frowned at him but Scott waved him towards the door. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. For now, go. He’s freaking out.”

            “Okay,” Stiles replied. But then hesitated because something had _changed_ and Scott knew now and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act anymore. Hiding things had become a way of life. He didn’t know how to-

            “Stiles,” Scott said and it was his Alpha voice again, although softer and gentler than before. “We’re going to talk about this more but not...” he waved a hand around the room. “Not like this.”

            Stiles was surprised when the idea didn’t fill him with dread but maybe that was only because he was too drained to really feel anything at the moment. So he nodded one last time and accepted one last hug from Scott and left.

            He had the brief thought that maybe he should be worried about wandering the halls at night, should be more concerned that only an hour ago (or maybe more, Stiles had lost track of time) Matt had found him here and he probably should be scared that it could happen again.

            But he wasn’t. He was too exhausted and empty and Derek would come save him again anyway. Maybe Scott too if the faded Mountain Ash line was anything to go by. He moved quickly and silently but it was more out of habit than anything else.

            And then he was at Derek’s room. And for the briefest moment, he had the idea that he should just leave, but it passed quickly and he -

            He opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Derek, though he was completely unsurprised to find the lights still on and Derek still wide awake.

            He was sitting at his desk but he rose immediately and then froze.

            For a moment, all Stiles could do was stare at him. His eyebrows were drawn up and together and his mouth was hanging open just a little as if he were surprised that Stiles was standing at his door. He shifted back a step and neither of them said anything, too busy just looking at each other.

            Derek was ashen and seemed just as exhausted as Stiles felt and Stiles wanted, more than anything, for everything to just be _okay_ somehow.

            “I’m sorry,” Stiles offered first. Derek still hadn’t moved but he shook his head slightly. Stiles kept talking anyway. “I shouldn’t have freaked out. Or punched you. I just… panicked and  I-.”

            “No,” Derek said and he took a step forward before stopping himself. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I was trying to help but I shouldn’t have touched you. It was – Do you want me to leave?”

            “What?” Stiles said, blinking in confusion. “No, no, you don’t have to-” He waved a hand towards the door and watched as Derek’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Derek, it’s really fine. I was… I didn’t expect to see him here. And I wasn’t ready for you to-”

            _To act like that. Like_ him _. To actually be convincing._

            It was stupid because he was the one who had joked about it, who had told Derek that it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just an act but…

            But in so many ways, it was Stiles’ worst nightmare come to life and he hadn’t been ready.

            “Stiles, I’m so sorry,” Derek said again. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to do and I didn’t want him to come after you again and I wasn’t- I didn’t- Please don’t leave.”

            Derek took a step forward and then stopped and Stiles finally noticed his hands were shaking.

            “Please don’t,” Derek said again. “I- I’ll sleep on the floor, okay? I won’t ever-”

            Derek was terrified. Maybe Stiles was too but, regardless, it made it easier to take the four steps to him and Stiles hesitated only because he didn’t know if he wanted to say something or just go for the hug or-

            He grabbed Derek’s wrist and didn’t bother taking a breath and then it was all too easy to simply place it where he wanted it.

            Resting against the right side of his neck.

            He watched as Derek’s eyes widened and the outer edge of his hand was covering the first claw mark that wound across Stiles’ shoulder and it- it said everything that Stiles couldn’t say.

            Stiles kept his hand on Derek’s wrist only to make sure Derek didn’t flinch away as he took another step closer and then curled both his hands in the front of Derek’s shirt and dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder and it took a few seconds for Derek to react but when he did, he made a noise in the back of his throat that was almost a whimper and then his body relaxed and his other arm came to wrap around Stiles and the hand at Stiles’ neck tensed and then squeezed and-

            Stiles felt safe.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek whispered again and Stiles shook his head.

            He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He didn’t need to.

            “Don’t,” he said, trying to somehow get closer. “Please, just… let’s just… not.”

            “Okay,” Derek replied and so they stood there.

            They stood there and Stiles counted the beats of Derek’s heart because it gave him something to do, although he kept losing his spot and having to start over. They stood there and Stiles breathed in the smell that was quintessentially _Derek_ and eventually Derek risked pressing his lips against Stiles’ forehead and they just… they just stood.

            And maybe it wasn’t perfect but maybe it would be someday. Or maybe it was close enough.

            “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Stiles mumbled eventually. His eyes were sliding shut but that was important. Derek had to know that they probably had to wake up early. So that Derek could wake him up. Because he had a feeling he was going to sleep like a rock the second they made it the three steps to the bed.

            “Good,” Derek said. The thumb resting on Stiles’ collar bone swiped up to his Adam’s apple and back down again. “I want to go home.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles replied, nodding even though neither of them moved.

            “Me too.”

 **End Longer by Far**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: Just so you know, Stiles does not get raped in this chapter. Derek saves the day- but Matt continues to be a creep for a little while, say some creepy things, and touch Stiles on the face.**
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> And, now for the sap!
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> To everyone who waited for this to be complete before reading it: Thanks for coming back to it! I'm sorry it took so much longer than expected!
> 
> To everyone who read this as it was happening and left kudos/comments: Honestly, thank you so much. I can tell you with 100% honesty that this second installment would NOT have happened without the encouragement and support from so many lovely, lovely people!
> 
> To bother you one last time, I would truly love to hear what you thought about the ending/the whole fic/the whole series. As always, direct questions will be answered and you can also ALWAYS come talk to me on my tumblr - username is petals42 (apparently the links aren't working for some reason...)
> 
> Note: There may be more fics written in this verse. But, for a full explanation of this ending/plans for the future/why this series is marked complete: [ click here](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/116088117759/i-have-completely-adore-your-turning-tide-series/)  
> Thank you all so, so much!

**Author's Note:**

> For updates, answers to questions, and the ramblings of a semi-sane grad student, check out my tumblr- petals42!


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